Tuesday, December 16, 2008

It’s funny that Josh smashed his head open because….

My sister Katy (who by the way is one of my very favorite people in the world) thinks it’s a good idea to explain why her jokes are funny. You catch her saying things like this all the time.

Katy: What goes tick-tock, woof-woof?
Innocent Victim: “I dunno, what?”
K:  “a watchdog ha ha ha ha ha!” (this is a very sincere hysterical laugh because she really thinks it’s funny.
IV: “ha….ha…..ha….” this is a courtesy laugh. Because nobody likes to hurt Katy’s feelings. She’s just too nice.
K: “See? It’s funny because ‘tick tock’ is the sound a watch makes, and ‘woof woof’ is the sound a dog makes. But the funniest part is that a watchdog is a real thing. Get it?”

Now you need to know that the explanation of the joke is usually funnier than the joke itself. Also you should know that Katy doesn’t really think the joke is funny, and she knows it’s funny to explain why it is funny. Now the whole thing is such a regular joke in our family that we just say “it’s funny because…” all the time. It’s guaranteed to get a laugh.

Yesterday Josh slipped on the ice from our faulty gutter line and smacked his head on the rockwork on the side of the house (think we should sue the homebuilder?). It gouged out a big chunk of the skin on his noggin and bled for a long time. He (being a manly man, and certainly not a sissy) picked himself up he came upstairs to show me his wound.

That’s funny because I JUST  finished explaining why I’m a sissy . And how I can’t handle blood. And that head wounds make me pass out. Get it? (“Spot the Irony” is another game we like to play at the Fugal household.)

When Josh walked in with his hand on his head, I looked at him and told him I was real sorry, but this is kindof his area of expertise and I didn’t really know what to do for him.  Eventually I called Meleta (it’s nice to have an ER nurse in the family. She’s so great!) who told us what to watch for and calmed me down (a little).

I spent the whole day asking Josh to see his pupils, and “checking” the back of his head since he couldn’t see it. By “checking” I mean: glancing at ‘The Wound’ for .002 miliseconds and spending the next 2 hours whining about how woozy I felt because of the sight of blood (which I clearly can’t handle).

You should know he’s fine. You can only sortof see the big crater in his head if you look (he was due for a haircut, so his shagginess is just perfect). He didn’t pass out, or get a concussion. He didn’t panic. He didn’t wanna go to the Dr. He didn’t whine. He just told me when he wanted more Tylenol (which for him is pretty drastic). My man is so tough!

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