Overanxious parents bring in a 15 year. His hand was caught between the wood stove he was helping to move and the floor leaving him with a few deep abrasions and some swelling on one knuckle worthy of an xray, but it certainly not the "Really bad" injury as advertised. The father responded to my question about tetanus: "Mine is up to date".
Um, for the record I didn't ask. And I don't care, especially since you continue to refer to your son as "princess". One more admonishment for him to "man up" (he was) and I'll give you something to man up about. This was clearly not a very deep gene pool as I was to learn.
Mom returned from the bathroom and announced, "Hey, there's Calgon soap in the bathroom, isn't it supposed to take you away?"
Husband: "Why, isn't that an Italian sandwhich with cheese and sauce?"
Me: "No, that's a CALZONE" ("you moron", my thought bubble screamed)
Husband: "Well, I was in the same state, the both start with 'K', don't they?"
I had to leave the room.
After an xray (negative) I cleaned up the cuts, put on some antibiotic ointment, assured the mom that her son would be able to play baseball and sent them on their way. But not until the brain trust that was dad asked if he would get crutches.
"Um, for a hand injury?"
"No, I just wanted to have them around in case we needed them".
No.
