Happy 50th Post Day!

Most people do something special for Blog Anniversaries or momentous numeral posts but not me! I'm just gonna ramble again. I don't have any prizes to give away or enough followers to have a, "Ask me anything," post. Besides, I cringe to think what anybody would ask me. I've never had any secrets or have hidden my thoughts so an, "Ask me anything," post would probably be a waste.

Yesterday was as expected. Busy, busy and busy. I survived though. My boss "Dennis" proceeded to whine how busy it was and then did absolutely nothing. Surprising to him, a relief pharmacist walked in and she ended up doing everything. I've never wanted to french kiss a girl more than I wanted to french kiss the pharmacist that walked in yesterday and actually began to work.

When I got home, I grabbed a beer and sat outside until my husband came home and took us to his "last" soccer game. It was a late game but seeing as it was his "last" game, I didn't want to deprive the girls of seeing their daddy play. It was going to be a rough game as they were playing the 2nd place team.

I in my tube top, the girls with their money to buy crap at the snack bar, we all sat back comfortably on the bleachers to watch the COPS play DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE PLAYING COPS.

From the whistle to the first 30 seconds of the game was about as exciting as a root canal until my husband went down like a sack of potatoes grabbing his leg.

What did I do as a supportive and loving wife?

I asked K to hand me her popcorn and go find out if her daddy was okay.

Should I have jumped up and ran in slow motion onto the field? Um......no. My husband is a proud man.

So as his fellow teammates tried to carry him off the field, I could see him grit his teeth and tell them to put him down. Proud, I tell ya! Limping into the box, K leaned into the doorway and ask, "Daddy? Are you okay?"

Her dad shook his head and continued to grit his teeth. My older daughter M leaned in and said, "What happened?"

Her dad continued to ignore them and just grimace while taking his stuff off. IE. cleats, shin guard, socks.

It was then that I watched my K reach up into the bleachers, grab a handful of popcorn and chuck it at him. She got daddy's attention with that and when he finally looked over, K yelled, "Quit being a wimp and get back out there!"

Ah, karma. It's a funny thing. How many times has he said that same thing to her? Probably about ten times.

Did daddy quit being a wimp? Of course he did. He went right back out there and stopped being a wimp. It wasn't until after the game when I saw his ankle. It had blown up the size of a knee and was already a pretty shade of purple.

For the rest of the night he allowed me to medicate him, wrap an ice pack around his ankle and elevate it.

I'm married to Forrest Gimp.

If I've offended you or expressed anything you don't agree with, don't worry, I'll probably do it again.