And, by the way...

....there is no sympathy for the wicked. My husband is a night person, and before around ten in the morning, as I've claimed many a time, you can tell him the same joke day after day. It will be funny each time because his mind doesn't kick in until later.

However, I thought it might be a good idea this morning to let him know I was developing a black eye. Otherwise he would alarmed and horrified at lunch time when he sees me.

"Hey, I hit myself this morning and I'm getting a black eye," I stated, trying to hide the exact circumstances.

He put on his reading glasses and peered into my face.

"What happened? My God, what did you hit yourself with?"

"The ground," I replied. There was no getting around it, but maybe the story could be avoided.

It took him a while to register my reply; as I say, it was much earlier than ten o'clock.

"The ground??? How did you hit your eye with the ground?"

So, I told him I fell down. He wanted to know if it had happened in the back yard, where most of my misadventures take place--cuts, spider bites, blisters from using a spade, etc.

"No, I fell while running, out on the Calzada..."

It just disgusts the hell out of me that he chortled, even though I couldn't help laughing myself while I told the sorry tale. Dang it, I wanted more sympathy than that. Maybe at lunchtime.