My dear hubby, PB, decided to clean the garage instead of go fishing on his day off.
He decided to clear out all the old red plastic gas containers we had for Y2K…ummm….13 years ago.
He decided to smash them in order to fit them into a big garbage bag.
He decided to jump on a gas can with two feet…
which sent it shooting across the garage floor…
which sent him flying six feet into the air…
which caused him to land on the cement on his left shoulder.
He decided to call me.
I decided to take him to ER.
The doctor decided PB tore his rotator cuff.
We decided it’s a good thing PB isn’t a major league pitcher.
I decided I love him still.
But I kinda wish he had gone fishing.