So, I’ve been doing this thing called exercise.  Some of you may be familiar.  Now, overall I’m pretty pleased with the results.  In case you demand photographic evidence, here I am doing some push-up homework my trainer gave me a few weeks back.  This is on Mt. Greylock, where Mr. Cookie and I did some hiking on vacation.  See?  That’s dedication.

Yes, those are girly push-ups.  Hush, you.

Anyway, back to the story.

Exercising is good, right?  RIGHT???  Well, suffice it to say it is so long as you don’t invite your spouse along.  When you do, this is bound to happen:

One minute, you’re doing planks and having a jolly old time, the next you’re wrapping resistance bands around your [much bigger, much stronger, much faster] husband’s hips and daring him to run while you hold him back.  And then, he runs and, well, you do hold him back if by that you mean falling flat on your face and snapping him in the man jewels with the ’til then taut bands that were around his hips.  Nothing like the double whammy of having your wife laying on the ground, dirt in her mouth, blood pouring out of her chin and both knees and a seriously offended set of balls to hold you back.  Very effective thinking, Wife!

“BUT WHAT ABOUT THE HAND???” you cry impatiently.  Well, it’s not broken.  But I effed up the tendons in it and I was still using it for all those daily chores like dishes, laundry, wiping my butt (seriously.  Never realized I use my left hand to swab the nethers).  So, the mean doctor has mandated this plaster splint for about a week to see if my beleaguered hand will just freaking heal, already.  So, here is the list I’ve come up with for pros and cons of the splint.  Let’s start with the cons.


Wiping my butt

Turning a steering wheel

Holding books to read

Decorating cakes

Buttoning my pants

Wearing sweaters

Taking shirts off

Cutting my food

Folding laundry

Typing (seriously.  Think about that.  This entry has taken me a year to write)


An excuse to avoid dishes

No push-ups

Clubbing students

Teaching my husband the value of servitude

Clubbing baby seals

Clubbing husbands who don’t act like your slave

Getting to answer “yes” to concerned nurses when they ask you if anybody at home is hurting you

Getting to spend quality time with your husband-slave when he has to help you decorate a very difficult cake for his nan’s 90th birthday:

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