He admits to being an enabler. I admit he may need to stage an intervention soon.

He makes fun of me because I’m probably going to finish off this bag of Ricola within the next few hours (if even that long), but: a) I can breathe through my nose again now, b) my throat feels noticeably *less* like it’s coated with ground-up bits of glass and razors, and c) *he’s* the one who bought them for me this morning in the first place.

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