(I never called him a klutz BEFORE we were married, but once a man says "I do", it's open season!)
Last week he finally came to the realization on his own - without any input on my part.
He took a nap.
He woke up.
He had sprained his ankle ..... while napping.
Several days of waiting on him hand and foot (pun? what pun?), taping his foot, taping his ankle, asking "Are you okay? Can I get you something? Don't move. I'LL do it." And he felt better.
And since he was feeling better, he dragged out the ladder and cleaned the gutters around the house.
Two hours later he's limping into the house wondering why his sprained ankle is back.
I merely say: "foot, plus rungs on ladder, equals here we go again."
I'm very compassionate. I won't hit you twice if the first hit knocked you out. So, although the first time wasn't his fault, the SECOND time was.
After TWELVE days of a swollen, extremely painful, discolored, and hot-to-the-touch foot, my willingness to do the laundry, dust the floors, and wash the dishes (HIS jobs) was growing thin.
I insisted he find a Podiatrist in our region of third-world Floruba.
We met the podiatrist,
who took one look at Stud's foot and ordered xrays.
When no fracture was found, he ordered blood tests and wrote a prescription for cortisone.
"It's not a sprain." the doctor said.
"I'm not sure what it is." the doctor proclaimed.
You have to understand, he's a doctor in HERNANDO.
And he said that Stud could go back to walking Beau. . .
So, there ya go.