These Are Troubled Times

Not long before Christmas, the Object and his bike had a tussle with a car. The Object is fine; he came away with a broken and sprained wrist (talented, no?), a separated shoulder, and a smooshed noggin. Lesson to all the kids out there: wear your helmet, because no one at the DC ER cares about your head on a Saturday night, and your capable and adorable girlfriend can't do a damn thing stuck in San Francisco with internet that doesn't recognize google as valid.

Happily, he's ok. Still, I cant' help but worry that the knock on the head left him a little daft. A smattering of things I have found myself saying to him over the past few weeks:

• Was that Fox News calling you for an interview?
• Why are you being so nice to the cat? You're going to confuse him!
• Did you just whisper sweet nothings to your coffee?
• Are you sure you're eating enough?
• I know I made dinner, but why don't you go play Wii while I do the dishes?
  
• You can't just waltz in the door five hours after I expec--gasp do I smell burritos on your breath?!