Something weird is going on. I mentioned before that every time Bob gets injured I follow right behind him with a nearly-matching ailment. Remember when he had cancer surgery and I instantly had kidney stones? We even had matching hospital bracelets!
Then he tripped over a curb, slammed his arm into a post, and garndered a bruise the size and color of an eggplant:
and I promptly tripped over a vine in the garden, did a face plant in some gravel, and came stumbling into the house for ice, looking like a blueberry muffin.
Well, just trust me. That’s how I looked. Bob has accused me of trying to upstage him and even said, “It’s MY hurt time.”
But I can’t seem to stop. And believe me, I wouldn’t put myself through all this just out of sympathy. The other night we were out on our patio enjoying the results of our hard gardening work:
when Bob showed me a bug bite on his ankle that had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. We figure it must be a spider bite.
“You won’t believe this,” I said, and put my left ankle next to his. “I have a bite on the same ankle!”
I told him not to accuse me of training a spider to select the exact same spot. No animal trainer in the world is that good. Still, it seems I keep trying to copy him.
What’s going to happen if he suddenly gets bitten by a Brown Recluse? Or a Black Mamba snake? One of us has to call 911, but we’ll both be in comas together.
I now have a new mission—to keep that guy alive and also help him win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. I mean, if I copy everything he does...
Meanwhile, you can buy my books and help us through these crazy predicaments while we try to figure it all out!