last night while the bf was downstairs showering, i heard a shout. i didn't go downstairs and check on him. he can be slightly dramatic, and he also likes to sing...loudly and off-key. i figured it was one or the other.

about ten minutes later i heard him shuffling up the stairs from the basement, moving very slowly. as he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, i saw that he was bent over, caveman style. he looked absolutely pathetic. in pain. agony. he explained that he had hurt himself in the shower. while trying to lift his leg and wash his foot. how does one not laugh at that vision?

he made it over to the bed and sat down. it took him literally ten minutes to move from one side of the bed to the other. we got him situated with a heating pad under his back and a pillow under his knees. i grabbed him some advil and he popped three of them.

he looked over at me with puppy dog eyes and said...

"so, do you think we need to call an ambulance?"

are you serious?

why is it that men always think they are dying when they are not feeling well? when i'm not feeling well i'm still expected to make dinner, wash dishes, do laundry, get the kids bathed and to bed... i think i was born the wrong gender.

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