How long have you had a weak back? Ohh, about a week back.

Today sucked like a Hoover in a hooker’s hall closet.  Sitting in my car talking to Liza, planning a trip and laughing like a hyena I look over my shoulder when I hear the car door open only to see my husband barely breathing and leaning against the passenger door like a crumpled up question mark after the alphabet has pooped it out of the line-up.

Apparently, after walking Otto into school Dave leaned down to kiss Otto goodbye and heard a pop or a snap or a crackle and immediately realized that his back was quitting his bitch and taking a vacation on a Carnival Cruise to Barbados. Instead of begging one of the teachers for help he slowly limped back to the car carrying a slab of pride as thick as a Christmas cheese log and no phone in which to text me and beg for assistance.

When I finally spotted him he was the color of a cotton ball and I was sure he as having a heart attack and a stroke simultaneously. I jumped up and begged him to stop eating cheddar cheese and cooking with back fat and then I gently put him in the car like a baby in a bassinet. When he assured me that he had only curdled into a broth because of a mammoth muscle spasm and a potential slipped disk I felt relief that I could continue to purchase extra sharp Irish cheddar and suck on bacon when I was feeling blue.

After a long day of lying flat on the rug, taking mini strolls up and down our three foot long hallway and a doctor’s appointment where he was forced to allow me to put on and take off his various man clothes while I mocked his hairy thighs and threatened to tickle his baked beans, we were told by the doctor that the disks were fine but his muscles were furious.

Lots of rest, lots of medicine, lots of ice and lots of sympathy does a healed man make. At least I hope so because nothing sucks more than an injured back, accept maybe being pantsed at recess or breastfeeding a bear.

An since I have spent my day delirious with worry and exhausted from volunteering duties and deadlines I wrote a song for Dave to speed up his recovery and annoy him into a deep sleep.

When you bend over to hug and you land on the rug, that’s amore!

When the poop hits the fan and you’re a new crippled man, that’s amore!

Leaning down with a hop and you hear a big pop

Grabbing the wall so you don’t trip and fall

Hobbling across the schoolyard and then collapsing so hard

That’s a bad back!

That’s a bad back!

That’s a bad back!

That’s amore!