On the way home, the right kind of husband will drop off your perscriptions then take you to Wendy's for yet another Frosty, because he knows it's the only thing that makes your throat feel a little better.
Then, of course, he'll take you to Jason's Deli for soup, because you wanted that too, diva that you are.
When you pick up your prescriptions together, the right kind of husband will make jokes with you as you wait even though he feels crummy too, making you feel that much better yourself.
And of course, you'll have the super-bright idea to open your Z-Pack in the car and take the first dose right then and there BECAUSE YOU JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE, even though you're only a few blocks from your house, where it would be easier to take without making a mess.
And you'll look around for water in the car, but you won't find any, so you'll pick up your mostly-melted half-Frosty and try to take a drink, somehow overturning it and completely dumping it all over yourself, the seat, and between the seat and the console.
And as it runs up your leg, into your shorts and all up in your business, you'll look at him, expecting him to be mad, but the right kind of husband will burst out laughing, and say "Wow, Mandy, I knew that Frosty would go straight to your butt, but didn't expect it to quite so fast."
And the rest of the way home, you'll sit in the uncomfortable goop, both laughing until you cry as he makes jokes at your expense and you make a feeble attempt to sop up the mess with the one napkin you have.
When you get home, the right kind of husband will run into the house and grab the rags, still making light of the situation as he helps you clean up the mess. And then, the right kind of husband will even do this to be sure he gets it all from under the seat:
And you'll be reminded again, just like you are in some way every single day, that you picked the right one.