Our Love Story - let's back up, Do you have arms?

After I had started having so much fun talking to Mr. F, but before we met, I started having this intense, irrational fear that he was an amputee and didn't tell me.  I could deal with the fact that he was an amputee, but not deal with his secrecy about it.  

The fear was not completely unfounded:  He had been in a war.  True, the people I knew who had also known him, knew him after he'd come back from war--with all limbs in tact.  BUT, no one had seen him for at least three months.  What if something happened in between?  True, there are pictures of him will all limbs.  BUT  photoshop! Photoshop, people.  

In addition, there were all the mentions of amputees.  Who brings up amputation in everyday conversation?  My roommate and I were at my parent's house doing the P90X thing, and since my roommate is 6 ft tall, my grandmother, who happened to be there too, cautioned her not to chop off her arm in the ceiling fan.  

Another girl I met for the first time at a dinner with friends started telling a story about a guy whose leg had to be amputated.  

In helping my mother, who is a chef, slice some roast beef, I was warned no less than 7 times not to cut off my fingers.

I could go on.  Countless references to loosing limbs or appendages.  Why!?!  What was I getting prepared for?

Not only mentioned in conversation, but a real life example of something crazy like this:  My dearest friend on earth met a guy online, and he had this amazing story how he used to be paralyzed but he was healed and so excited about getting on with life.  Then, when they met, he never used his right arm, and his right leg was clearly not fully operational.  He hadn't told, or maybe realized, the truth of his situation.  

Again, let me be clear:  I was not afraid of the amputation, as much as I was afraid of someone who could be so NOT self-aware enough to know that it would matter to at least mention it.  

This went on for a good 10 days or so.  And even Mr. F mentioned it!  We were talking about breakfast, and how I love eggs from my head down to my legs, didn't he?  Without skipping the proverbial beat, he quipped, "What if I don't have legs? ...I guess I'd love eggs from my head down to my stump.  But that doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?"  He was clearly pleased with his silliness.  I was stunned.  

What if he really didn't have legs?

I think it was the very next morning, my beautiful roommate and I were doing P90X in the middle of the road, with a laptop on the roof of her car (so we could have plenty of room to jump around).  It was the jumping episode I think--the one with the guy that has a prosthetic leg.  And it hit me.  

It would be fine.  It's ok if Mr. F is an amputee.  It's just fine.  

I stopped the workout.  Told my roommie.  And she bear hugged me and said, "That's so good."

Then we finished the workout.

All's well that ends well.  I was prepared.  If he were an amputee, it wouldn't matter.