Every once in a while Mister likes to psyche me out and pretend to have died. Hilarious, no?
There was the time he was trying to fix our washing machine and got a gigantic shock. “The shock went up one arm and down the other,” he told me. I wasn’t surprised since that washer liked to shock people randomly, but never had it given such a big one. Anyway, a little while later we were sitting on the sofa talking and his eyes just rolled back into his head and he sort of slumped over and made this weird choking noise. I had one of those experiences where a million thoughts flew through my head: “I can’t believe I’m a widow now! There’s no way I’m getting married again. Who is going to dress him for the funeral? What am I going to tell the kids? How can this be happening to me?” And then he sat up and started laughing.
Very funny, Mister.
A year or so later, Mister had been complaining about really bad headaches (he’s always complaining about some sort of ailment. It’s kind of a hobby in his family). I went down to the basement for something and when I came back up Mister was lying on the kitchen floor with his head in a pool of blood.
Only it wasn’t blood, it was ketchup.
I didn’t kick him in the balls, but I should have. Playing dead is not nice to do to a woman who has six children.
But I do love a good joke.