The other evening before bedtime, Danny complained that he had hurt his leg. He asked for a Band-aid, but in the bedtime ritual chaos, I forgot. Later, Bil passed by Danny's room and Danny again requested the Band-aid. Bil, being a man, couldn't find the Band-aids, so in a burst of resourcefulness, decided to use a nasal strip instead. This satisfied Danny and made me laugh.
This morning, Danny happened to notice the ugly mole on my forearm that sprouts impressively long hairs when I forget to trim them. I hate this mole but have learned to live with it. Apparently, it is the first time Danny noticed it and he was quite concerned. He kissed it and called it an "owie." Then, he started playing with (read: pulling) the hairs, at which point I squealed in pain. Finally, Danny told me he was going to get me a Band-aid and make it feel all better.
Next thing I know I am wearing a nasal strip on my mole, which later pulled out all the hairs when I tore it off.