I am a firm believer that you reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Good always triumphs over evil. The guys in the white hats always win the gunfight. The guys in red shirts on Star Trek always get vaporized. I think you see where I’m going with this.
The other day Devoted Spouse spent most of his day in service to God — he painted several rooms of our new church building. I’m always proud and happy when he volunteers at the church; it’s a good thing. But sometimes I get a little annoyed that he is so quick to help out the church….when there are chores and projects to be tackled here at home. (Look out — lightning bolt comin’ my way!)
After painting all day, he was tired. He deserved some rest so I didn’t nag him and as I recall I even made a nice supper for the man. He was hunkered down in his disgusting dog-drool-stained I hate it so much I want to toss it out the window favorite comfy recliner chair when he had to get up for one reason or another. As he got up, his hamstring blew — he got a leg cramp to end all leg cramps and couldn’t get it to stop. What did I do to help? I giggled. I know – it was a “you’re goin’ to hell” type of moment because the way he was dancin’ around…all I could do was laugh. I tried not to laugh outloud and I tried very hard to sympathise with him. I knew he was in pain. I even rubbed his leg for him and felt how tight that poor muscle was. It had to hurt. But it was funny. We’ve all been there with charley-horses, etc. They hurt like the dickens but the dance you do is funny.
Divine retribution. That’s something else I believe in.
Sunday afternoon I was trying in vain to squeeze my newly sized 10 butt into a pair of size 8 jeans in hopes of stretching them out enough to actually wear them without my lungs bursting from all the skin forced up towards my not-as-filled-out-as-it-used-to-be-chest. I did the old ‘suck it waaaay in’ number, got those bad boys buttoned, then fell back onto the bed because all us gals know that’s the true way you get those tight jeans zipped up. And then it happened.
I got the mother of all hamstring cramps and I couldn’t get up off the bed because I was poured into these flippin’ jeans and I couldn’t breathe, much less move. Ow…ow…ow…ow. I finally edged myself off the bed and did the ‘jumping-up-and-down-I’ve-pulled-a-muscle dance around my bedroom for a few moments until the cramp subsided. I got out of the jeans and threw them across the floor in favor of my comfy yoga pants.
The back of my thigh still hurts. Moral of the story? God doesn’t like ugly, Linda. Never laugh at your spouse (at least not where he can see you)….sigh…