My weekend:
Friday–on a shopping expedition, I say to my husband, “All I ever seem to do is stay at home, wearing various types of cotton (linen, flannel–wait, are those even types of cotton). I gotta get out more, get a life, and do more exciting things.”
He obliges me by tearing the ligament in his leg an hour later:
We decided yesterday was the day we were to buy our new home theater system. I had decided this a long time ago, but we’d been shopping and looking around and debating the purchase for the past–let me think–ah, yes, ten years. TTTEEEENNNNN years. For this, I blame him (but not a lot b/c I am, after all, the woman who has been debating a printer purchase for the past 3 years…)
Anyway, in a miraculous act that confirms the existence of God, not only did we purchase the new t.v. & speaker system, but I walked away with a brand new laser printer. You could hear the angels sing. There was weeping, too, but I think that was just our regular sales guy, happy we’d stop talking and started buying.
The time comes to load up the truck and that’s when the accident occurred. My husband, in loading the flat-screen, zigged to get out of an awkward position. His knee, however, quite liked the position and stayed in place. The result? A torn ligament.
But don’t worry.
The t.v. is fine.
Friday nights for some couples means dinner and a show. Well, no dinner but we had an extravaganza of visual delight. There was mystery (when will the doctor call us in?), suspense (did they forget we were here?), comedy (the doctor wanted to know how much we paid for our new t.v, the admitting nurse & splint guy wanted to know if the t.v was okay), horror (what the F is that smell?), and adventure(will the creepy guy cussing into the phone (while wearing a face mask) pass on anything lethal–and can we hold our breaths long enough?)
Three hours of cuddling and small talk over a warm can of coke and we emerged with split, extra strength aspirin, and a funky smell emanating from our clothes.
Saturday — Remarkably quiet.
Sunday — Discovered that if you heat honey for too long in the microwave, not only will it boil, but it will reach a temperature high enough to melt the plastic container…clean up was sssooo much fun (like my husband needed another reason to ban me from any kind of cooking).
I’m now in the study, looking at pictures of my printer (it won’t be delivered until Wednesday, and I know feel a creepy kinship with men who surf the Internet for porn…) and trying to get enough steam going to do some writing…
