Last night, Dave and I had a long talk – he was lying on the bed with his head on the pillow, and I was sitting on the bed facing him. At some point, I went to slide off of the bed, and my leg came down in a really weird way, and I banged the inside of my knee on the corner of my nightstand. It was one of those completely improbable how-in-the-hell-did-I-manage-THAT? kind of injuries. It turned into a bruise in less than an hour. And all night long, whenever I’d roll over in bed and my knee would graze the sheet, it would wake me up. Ow. It still hurts today. I can’t cross my right leg over my left.
Moral of the story: I hope our kids don’t inherit the Klutz Gene from me. I don’t know if there’s genetic engineering available for such things, but man, it’d really spare them a lot of pain and embarassment if there were.
As for the subject matter of the aforementioned “long talk” – most of it is of a personal nature that really should remain between Dave and I. My marriage is sacred, after all. The short version?
We aren’t getting a puppy. We have four cats as it is, and that should be plenty to keep me busy.
I mean, the litter boxes alone… you guys just have no idea.