New material...just in time for the Erma Bombeck Writers' Conference

Desperate for material and less than 24 hours from the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, I found some material just in the nick of time. Sadly, my husband is the material…again.


Begrudgingly, I have been exercising with him, okay its Wednesday so it’s been three days. I won’t complain that he lost five lbs… while I gained two.

Day one: A brisk hours’ walk through Sunset Park, which backs up to Wayne Newton’s home. We walked enough to allow my husband to catch a little sun on his face and for me to find “sore spots where the muscle used to live.”

Day two: Well, I count that intimacy as exercise these days and did you know “3o minutes in the sack” can burn 144 calories? I was in the bed for 30, so it must count.

Day three: Shooting hoops in our backyard’s basketball court, something I failed in High School PE, mostly because PE was first period!

I was amazed to dunk eight balls in half an hour. Impressive, huh?

Most of my workout was by way of catching “missed balls” in the rose bushes, behind the air conditioner and under the trampoline. Tony decided to play “Horse” which I ignored while he spelled H-O-R-S-E out loud.

Next thing I knew… he missed a shot, heading for the fire pit area and lost his footing on the brick ledge thereby…twisting his ankle. Landing squarely on the flagstone, he rolled and winced like a stop-drop and roll routine. Running (not as clumsily) to his aid, I stood over him and said, “Game Over.”

Thus begun the “neediness”…ladies, you know when a man gets a hangnail, splinter or a cold and suddenly the neediness appears. “Get me an ice pack...Can I have a pillow…Where do we keep the Advil?”

Safely, propped up in his Man Chair/Lazy boy recliner, I retrieved the requested items and thought, “So here’s the material babe.” I have had the longest drought of writing; mostly due my personal commitment to put others first.

Writing is a luxury best left on the back burner.

But, not today...this is just too good to pass up. I know you ladies out there will agree that there is nothing more humorous than an injured man.

I am not sadistic, I only laugh at the small injuries, such as motor-crossing into a Cholla Cactus on our 4th Anniversary. You can’t beat picking cactus needles out of your husband’s backside with tweezers... and pliers.

Or, take the time he broke his collarbone testing out Supermoto on the new track. This mishap was six long weeks of neediness. Never mind, we were two weeks from moving into our new home and he heard the crack of the collarbone while hoisting a coffee table off the moving van. If it weren’t for our old friends from college who were passing through town and had the unfortunate luck to call us mid move, only to lend their hands that evening.

Did I mention the sprained ankle is a repeat of two years ago? Although, that time he was jumping on the kids’ trampoline and broke a spring in the process. Same Nike shoes, so husband suspects the shoes are to blame for the MULTIPLE injuries!

Fast forward to 5am this morning when I asked him to step on it, the gas pedal that is, as I like to be punctual for the security TSA at the airport. It slipped my mind that his ankle was resting on the pedal and pressure/acceleration is a double edged sword.

I felt a hundred times worse when I saw the picture of his foot this evening. As I dined with writers and listened to Bill Bombeck read his wife’s legendary words…I was eating the humble pie for dessert.

I thank my husband for the material, but most importantly… for the support in providing me the luxury to attend the conference while he convalesces alone.