You Bluffin'?

So last night was interesting in our household to say the least. My husband got home from work late so I was a bit annoyed with him (understatement) when he waltzed in.

Each of us were trying to prove our points without actually fighting - which is quite the challenge for us! So there was a lot of heavy banter borderlining on smart assism (new word, like it?). Now, let's not get into the details. All you need to know is that I was feeling neglected.....and then, in streak of unluckiness, I fell down the stairs. I didn't fall full out, I really just missed the last step, but it made quite the commotion you would have thought there were broken bones. I rolled my ankle and screamed out. My husband didn't care! I hobbled up the stairs in the most pathetic manner imaginable and still received zero sympathy. So since I was already annoyed (again to say the least - truthfully I was downright ticked), I decided to scream "ouch" again to see if he would pay attention this time.

Still nada.

Now, by this point, my ankle pain had subsided, I'll admit it. It still did hurt, but I could have moved on with my life if I wanted to. Then my husband said, well let me see what we can do since I promised to take care of you "in fakeness and in health." Clearly I couldn't let him get away with calling me a faker! I had to soldier on and stick to my guns that I was injured. So I teetered over to him and he, in an exaggerated faker voice, pretended to care that I fell. He offered to take me to the ER (attempting to call my bluff) but I respectfully declined.

Keep in mind we both know the other is full of it. He is very much aware that my ankle doesn't hurt and I am very much aware that he knows this and wouldn't care if it did hurt. But we both had a point to prove.

So he ushers me to the chair, elevates my foot in the most dramatic fashion imaginable and then runs to the freezer (crap!).

Me: Hon, what are you doing?

H: Getting you ice!

Me: Oh, okay.

H: Well don't you think that is a good idea? You are so injured we don't want it to swell.

Me: Um....yeah, that is a great idea. I should have thought of that!

I couldn't possibly back down now. We are both trying not to laugh our rear ends off - it was soooo hard. It was a stand off. Eyes squinted, corner of our mouths turned up sort of stand off!

So I think in my head, I can wear an ice pack to prove my point...but my husband had other plans in store. He gets one bag of ice, fine. Then he gets another bag of ice!! Then he gets gauze!! He then proceeds to put a pack of ice on each side of my ankle and encase the entire foot in gauze so I couldn't escape the ice. I had no choice but to keep the charade up!

[Chrissy if you are reading, I think you get this whole story line and why it had to go down the way it did. You have no idea how annoyed I was that he wasn't "saying uncle."]

Ever so kindly he escorts me down the stairs. Every 30 seconds he asks me if the ice is too cold and I assure him that ice can never be too cold if it will cure my pain :) Oh yes, I am good. He is getting irked by now. He grabs my ankle and squeezes it with all his might telling me compression is good when he is really just trying to get me to cave because of the freezing ice. I didn't budge an inch (because at this point, I am just flat out numb)!

Then comes the Healthy Choice steam bowl commercial debate over whether I made my dinner correctly based on the procedure performed during the commercial (we were watching Dancing with the Stars. My choice since I was in so much pain :). Confusing, I know, but stick with me. Luckily for TiVo I tell him I would be willing to rewind to see who is right if he wants to place a friendly wager. He says that I can take my ice pack off if I am right.

bleep bleep ::TiVo rewind sound:: and guess who is right! ME!

So the ice comes off and by this time we are laughing hysterically. He decides he should test my range of motion to which I decide to give it one last shot and wince at the insurmountable pain caused by flexing my foot. At that point, I think he might have started to have doubts about my faking! I will never verbally confirm with him that it didn't hurt that bad - that would make me a loser.

I realize how juvenile this all sounds...I get it. But trust me it made sense to us based on our previous arguments, etc. And it was all in good fun. I wouldn't have even bored you with the story, but I had some cute pictures to go along with it. Our dog, Bailey, is very intuitive when something is wrong and he was very concerned for me. He clearly wanted to take my pain away:

OK I know that was both confusing and stupid, but I have one heck of a cute pup don't I?