Tree Bark

I love my husband for many reasons, but yesterday I added one more reason to my list. We were drinking our coffee and muffins, a tradition that started when my husband started working evenings. When he wakes up around 11:30 we have our morning coffee (mmmmm) and muffins as his breakfast and my morning snack. Kaylee joins us with her own little snack. While my husband was taking a bite of his muffin I noticed him studying my arm. He was looking at my arm quiet intensly and after another rather large bite he says casually, "You know your arm looks just like tree bark." I look down at my own arm and realize the layer upon layer of yellowy scabs resemble a tree truck with thick layers of bark. How he could look at the grotesqueness that I call an arm while enjoying breakfast is beyond me. If his arm was so covered in thick layers of scabs (made not of blood, but of the salt/water/protein mixture my arm is covered in) it looked like tree bark I would ask him to keep in covered until it healed to keep me from barking on a daily basis. Oh dear husband,  only you would not be disgusted by me in this hideous state!