I said, "How was it?" like a good wife, and he smiled and shrugged.
Uh-oh. "Did you get hurt?*"
Nod. I look. No obvious broken bones, no limping**. But something funny on his face.
"Um. Six stitches."
Will you think I am World's Worst Wife when I confess that I laughed? I only laughed a little, and mainly out of relief, because - you know - it could have been worse.
[DETAILS COMING -PLEASE IGNORE IF YOU HATE THIS STUFF] He crashed heads with a bald guy named Troy (real name, but he doesn't know his last name. Only that he has a head like a bowling ball). His skin split open right between his eye and his eyebrow. The cut is long enough that if it were open, it would probably be about the size of a quarter. Ick. But the doc stitched him up (at the end of his 36 hour shift - and that could have been worse, too) and he's off to work.
But I'd rather have him stitched, bleeding, broken or sprained than deal with him when he has a cold. Or, heaven forbid, the stomach flu.
I'm just saying, the bigger the man, the bigger the baby.
*This is the guy who once played six games of volleyball on a broken wrist because he didn't want to inconvenience his date (who was not me).
** Did I mention playing basketball on a sprained ankle?