I received the following tweet update from my wife:  “Just wiped out walking at work, something wet was on the floor & I went flip hitting my knee & shoulder before I landed on my butt. LOL! SMH”

The thing you have to know is that nothing amuses my wife like physical injury.  The time I cracked my head against my youngest son’s recently installed pull-up bare caused her to fall off the couch (literally) in convulsions of laughter.

So not even two minutes after I read that text, I was grateful that she wasn’t around.

Still battling a stomach virus (FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL), I decided to make the bed.  I flicked the comforter into the air, because I like to guide it perfectly into place onto the bed.  As I yanked the comforter down, it caught the back of my head and I somehow slammed my own head into the bed post.

I’ve decided to simply crawl into said bed, curl up under said comforter, and read Nick Mamatas’ Move Underground, which reads even more like a lucid dream than it did before.

And yet I can still hear my wife’s laughter.