Picture This...

The Scene: Our house, late Sunday evening, around 9:30pm. Warren decides he's parched and wants to go get a nice cold slurpee from Seven Eleven. I ask him to grab a small one for me too.

20 minutes or so later I'm at the computer when I hear his car arrive in the driveway, the door slam shut, and the 'beep beep' telling me he's locked the car doors. I wait for the sound of the front door opening, but the sound doesn't come. Thinking he's probably searching his pockets for the key, I get up to greet him. I open the door, and he's not there.

A mild feeling of panic sets in.

"Warren?" I call out into the darkness. Nothing.

A strong feeling of panic sets in. "Warren? Are you out there?", I repeat loudly.

After my second call, I hear the quietest groan, coming from somewhere near the vehicle. "Uuuuuuuuugh...uuuuuugh...".

I sprint into action down the front steps to the other side of the driveway, decked out in my cowboy flannel pajamas & slippers.

In the darkness, I find my husband, laying in the fetal position on the pavement, groaning in pain. He has crushed slurpee cups clamped against his chest, and his jacket is soaked from Lime & Cola slushee. A puddle of slurpee is forming in front of him, like a sugary pool of blood.

I realize what has happened. He had decided to go through the back door instead, and on his way, under the dark night sky, he tripped on the drain pipe that he has tripped on countless times before. I bite my tongue - as this is not the time to lecture my ailing husband about the benefits of 'watching your step' - and I bend down beside him, asking him where he's hurt, is he okay, and help him to his feet. I pick up the slurpee cups in the hope that I can salvage some for him.

Once inside, I ask what happened, and he tells me "Well, you didn't tell me I had my slippers on, so I went to 7-Eleven in my slippers, and then my slippers got caught on the drain pipe". I laughed at his attempt to blame me for his clumsiness, but again bit my tongue. His knee was hurting and his knuckles were bloody. This was not the time to lecture him.

Feeling sorry for him, I salvaged what I could of his slurpee by pouring the remnants into a glass and handed it to him. He took it from me and turned to go downstairs and lick his wounds.

He turned away, and just then 'Splash!' followed by him hanging his head "Aaaawww" he groaned under his breath.

He had stepped right into the dogs' water bowl.

This is the part where I fell to the ground in absolute hysterics.