Back in early September, my bride and I were camping at a State Park for a 3 day weekend.  Around midnight Sat nite/Sun morn, she felt teh need to go to the girls room, gets out of the tent, steps off the tent pad onto a rock and falls.  I didn't hear a thing.

Sunday 0600.  She is getting out of the tent.  I roll back over.  I hear Godawful sounds coming out of her.  I look at her foot.  Off to the ER we go.  Broken foot.  Fuggin wonderful.

This past Saturday, she finally walked without crutches, albeit with much weakness in her right foot/ankle.

She has not once complained, except to apologize to me for not being able to do laundry (W/D in the basement), run the vacuum, sweep, mop, cook, do dishes, or any number of other things around the house. She HAS NOT been able to do these things.  

We had a 3 night camping trip scheduled with my out of town brother and his bride in late October.  It was on that trip I earned the title "Camp Bitch".  All in good fun, mind you.  I was the "Camp Bitch" because my wife, on crutches and in a cast up to her knee, needed a little more attention than usual.  She never looks for attention.

What a trooper.
NOW GET YO BITCH ASS IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE ME A PIE!

I like pie.

******This is a true story, except for the "make me a pie thing.


Oh, I like crow, too.  Been eating it for 36 years, now.  I have a killer recipe, if anyone needs it.

I have been reading your posts for almost a year and they ALL CRACK MY SHIT UP! [ROFL]