Jolly Green Giant

It's miserable when Shawn showers. Because his knee looks like over-cooked, mushy cabbage, it doesn't bend. At all. Trying to bend it results in extreme pain and words you should only hear on HBO.

So, because of this and because I play the role of the loving wife, I get to aid Shawn. You must also remember that I am 5 feet tall; Shawn is six feet and five inches. Yes, barefoot.

He won't lean on me. When we went to the doctor Saturday, he relied more on the walls than me. There's just too much space between us. It's easier when I'm the one all gimped out. I remember when I once got dehydrated, they put something....something in the IV that made me totally relaxed. When we got home, I stepped out of the truck only to discover the ground was not there. And whatever was in that IV made me OK with that. Shawn caught me in mid-air. Shawn's good for catching me. When it comes to me catching him, on the other hand, all I can do is put a left sock on his lame leg.

Him: "Don't jerk my foot around!"
Me: "I'm trying to be gentle!"
Him: "Ok, you got it, but easy!"
Me: "Your toenails are too long and they're hurting me!!"
Him: "It's not my nails, it's you stubby little fingers!!!!!"
Me: "Oh! So it's my fat little sausages that are messing up your sock!"

We break out into laughter; hilarity ensues.

This is turning out to seem like a cheap sitcom that just never ends.
Hey, I'm playing the role of the concerned gal, here.