At a certain point in a marriage, the woman exhausts her sympathy for the man's injuries.
I was in Michigan and Ohio, for four days. In freakin' blizzards. Ice everywhere. Never a problem.
Got home, went to the Y to work out, got home after dark. Walking up driveway.
Big smooth icy patch, meltwater that had refrozen. Never saw it. Left leg goes shooting out straight in front of me, right folded beside me. Landed with right heel touching my waist, beside me. Dislocated my kneecap.
It popped right back in, but muscles in right leg cramped up like rock, and sprained kneecap hurt like hell. Felt like I couldn't breath. Certainly couldn't move. Laid there in the ice, for what seemed like an hour, but probably wasn't more than ten minutes. Long enough to get soaked from body temp melting the ice. Watched planes go by, and tried to breathe.
Pulled myself over to truck, to try to get in and blow horn, so LMM could come out and shoot me and put me out of misery. Couldn't reach *^$&%ing horn, and slipped on ice again.
Crawled off ice, and limped into house. LMM looks at me, and says, "Take that wet dirty stuff off!"
I tell her I hurt my knee. She comes over: "Do you need to go to the doctor?"
I say no, has happened before, just a sprain.
LMM, turning back to dishwasher: "Well, at least you iced it."