They’re famous last words, or at least they should have been. Or they could have been.
See, it happened like this a few days ago. I had to get injections in the cervical spine and, because of the effects of sedation, needed a driver. (That’s one of those times when it comes in handy to have a spouse.)
So, the Duppster (bless his heart) took the afternoon off from work to be my official driver. After all, he seems to have a vested interest in me being out of pain, as being in pain often translates into being “a pain.”
I’m typically pretty alert after injections. Since I wasn’t groggy, we made a few stops on the way home, including going by the local Subway for sandwiches to take home with us.
Later that night, after our evening ritual of “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy,” the Duppster just casually asked, “Did you know you’ve got mascara under your eyes and down your face?”
“Since when?” I responded.
And just as matter-of-factly he answered, “Oh, it’s been there all day.”
All day? Doesn’t a man know this is serious? How could he notice this and let me go around with mascara down the side of my face?!?!
That’s like coming home from church and asking, “Did you know your dress wasn’t buttoned all the way?” or “Did you know there was a hole in the back on your skirt?”
These could be famous last words.