Carrie Leigh (carrie_leigh) wrote,
Carrie Leigh

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I'll be over here with my elbow shard, quietly weeping, not bothering anyone.

So... you all know how my husband's twelve, right?

Well, not literally. Literally he's 47. But definitely metaphorically... Totally twelve.

He likes to prank people. For example, early in our relationship, he used to rubber band the sprayer at the kitchen sink so it would hit me later on when I turned on the faucet. He did this to my sister, too. Several times over. He found it HILARIOUS. Me and Emily? Not so much.

Over the years, the sprayer thing evolved to the hand held sprayer in our master bathroom shower. He'd get out of the shower, position it so that the next time I tried to turn on the shower, it would hit me with cold water right in the face.

Yes, this went over with me about as well as you might imagine.

Finally, I lost my crap and very sweetly asked him to please not do that anymore. (Or spewed violent, molten crazy all over him, I can't remember.) So he stopped, but he was feeling brave not too long ago, and while he was actually taking a shower, and I was innocently taking off my makeup and brushing my teeth in comfy jammies, he pointed the half held sprayer at me, and blatantly, without remorse, SPRAYED ME.

He giggled like a schoolgirl, because of course he thought that spraying his wife while fully clothed and getting the bathroom covered with water was hysterical.

So I got a touch peeved (or pretty pissed off, I can't remember) and cleaned up the water all over the walls, the mirrors, the countertops, my makeup and hair stuff that was messily on the counter, and he starts backtracking. Saying "Oh, baby don't be mad. Don't be mad. Come on. C'mere, I want to talk to you..."

And so I started to go to him, and not realizing that I hadn't cleaned up the water on the floor from when my beloved sprayed me with shower water, I did an amazing, Three Stooges, Roger Rabbit, cartoon slip and fall, where I actually hovered in the air for several seconds before I fell, catching all of my (considerable) weight on my right elbow.

There were tears, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth. And that was just Nolan.

So I had my elbow checked out, and it was not broken, cracked, but not broken. But then a week later, I hit my elbow again, and felt something shift. Something not good. It appears that there's a shard of my elbow that's broken free and is now floating around under the skin, and I forget about it until I hit my elbow just right, and then it's lightning bolt, white hot fingers of pain up my arm.

The worst part, though, is that Nolan insists that my fall, the fall in which I started a dislodging of a shard of my elbow, the fall which happened as a direct result of him spraying water on the floor... THAT FALL, Nolan says was not his fault.

Not his fault, my rosy rear end.

The elbow shard isn't necessarily his fault, but I wouldn't have the shard if I hadn't fallen in the first place. Due to the water on the floor. From my husband being twelve.

Nonetheless, I now have a broken shard of elbow floating around, and I blame it on Nolan, whether or not he chooses to accept the blame or not.
Tags: adventures in marriage, nolan

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