I'm married to an idiot.
Last week, Jimmy was walking out of a party, having had probably a wee bit too much wine, wearing one of his usual peculiar outfits - this time some loose-fitting pajamas, a pair of bathroom slippers and sunglasses - got his feet caught in the pajamas/slippers, couldn't see where he was going because he was wearing sunglasses at night, and fell flat on his face in the middle of the street.
Luckily, no cars drove over him, and after remaining on the ground, stunned, for about a minute, he managed to drag himself to his feet, blood spurting from his face, and stumble back to the party for help.
At about 9:00 that night, I got a call from our friend Eileen. "Um, Gretchen? I don't think Jimmy's going to be home any time soon. I'm driving him to the hospital."
I was stuck at home with a sleeping Jude, so Jimmy had to fend for himself at the hospital. He was finally released at 8:00 am, just in time for me to pick him up after dropping Jude at school.
He had a broken nose, and TWENTY stitches across the bridge of his nose. A disaster. The best we can figure, the stitches were caused by the stupid glasses being driving into his face by the impact of the fall.
Oh my God, the amount of blood this man had on his clothes! It's amazing how much blood he lost. He truly looked like something out of a slasher film.
Luckily, Jimmy has never really been a "pretty boy" type. He's best described as a...character actor. So I'm thinking the freaky scar is just going to lend more "character" to his face. Who knows, maybe he'll start working more.
Jimmy, being Jimmy, has spent the week acting out scenes from Raging Bull, because he's convinced he looks like Jake LaMotta. And he kind of does...
Yesterday was our anniversary. 17 years. I made fondue again.
I am blessed that he made the 17 years. I am blessed that he did not get run over by a car. I am blessed that he did not bleed to death. I am blessed that he did not have a concussion. I am blessed that he is still with us, only a bit worse for wear. I am blessed that I can still kiss his sweet, even bigger nose with only minor discomfort on his part. I am blessed that my weird husband's answer to 20 stitches and severe loss of blood is to pretend he's Jake LaMotta. But really...