My husband had just arrived home from a long day at work; he sat on the couch with our dogs to rest. I walked over to him to tell him about the events of my day, when he held his hand out for mine. I gave him my hand, and he tugged on it gently.
“Sit down on my lap.”
“No,” I told him giggling.
“Come on, sit down,” he said, tugging at my hand again.
So, I did. He wrapped his arms around me, and I moved in for a kiss (sick, I know).
Fully expecting him to kiss me back in response, you could imagine how shocked I was when he screamed in my face.
“What—” I yelled, startled.
He shoved me off his lap into the floor, in response. The dogs jumped off the couch all excited, running around as if we were playing a game. I sat there in the floor, fighting off two fifty-pound dogs, stunned and confused, as my husband continued to scream.
He grabbed his leg as he screamed, pulling himself into the fetal position. I continued to fight the dogs off me in order to stand up to help him. By the time I got to him, he was sitting up on the couch rubbing what was left of his horrendous leg cramp away.
Staring down at him, I shook my head.
“You threw me in the floor!”
“I couldn’t help it; I cramped!”
I turned and stomped off to the kitchen to make him brownies.