Bob vs Hypochondria

Good evening ladies and germs.

As many of you know, I live with my very lovely man-shaped life partner, and soon to be husband, "Bob".
You should also probably know, that I'm a bit shit at washing dishes. Well, I say washing dishes, it's more the precarious balancing act on the draining board that follows the washing.
We do have a dishwasher but, because I use EVERYTHING in the kitchen when I cook a meal, we tend to have a great deal of overflow.
So... with this in mind, and my inability to stack the bloody draining board, we've had a few accidents recently. By accidents I mean mugs, bowls and mason jars jumping off the sideboard and committing suicide.

A couple of days ago, a mason jar flung itself off said draining board and shattered all over the kitchen floor. Now, I do love my mason jars so, understandably, I was rather upset about the whole thing.
But luckily Bob swooped in and swept away the mess and all was well again.

Until Thursday morning... I was pottering around barefoot making our sandwiches for work and I felt something under my foot. So, being a kitty at heart, I rubbed said foot over the other one without thinking and felt a dragging sensation. I thought nothing of it and carried on making our sandwiches.
After about a minute, my foot started to feel like it was throbbing and.. started to sting a bit actually.
I put down the sandwich making paraphernalia and looked down to see..

My foot was bleeding everywhere. Horrified, I called for Bob who helped me hop to the couch. He looked at me as if to say, "Don't worry my darling wife to be... I've got this. I WILL SAVE YOU"
Starry eyed, I watched him bound purposefully out of the room emerging moments later with wads of tissue.
He took my foot in his hands and mopped up the pooling blood with the tissue. I was feeling most reassured... until I heard the almighty shriek of scotch tape, newly peeled and launching itself at me.
Bob looked very proud of himself as he proceeded to wrap the tape around my foot, encasing the dirty, bloody tissue, in a giant sticky loop over and over again.

After making sure I was all bound up and cellophaned like a botched parcel, Bob instructed me to leave my foot like this for a while to "let the blood dry" and then get in the shower.

And although the injury was probably like this:

In my mind, It was more like this:

I was dumbfounded. What about antiseptic wipes? What about a plaster (band aid)? What if there's glass stuck in there? Will it be lodged in my foot forever? Am I like Robocop now? Half woman half mason jar??

He left for work and I sat on the couch with my foot in air, staring at the shittest Halloween mummy costume in the world, unsure of how to proceed.
Also, I now had to pee.

Whilst trying to figure out how to get myself to the bathroom without inadvertently Velcro-ing my foot to the floor, I began to contemplate Bob and his attitude to injury in general.
I remember when we first started dating, he told me about the time he was playing football with some friends and someone accidently kicked him in the head and split it open. Not his skull, thankfully, but the skin on the back of his head just ripped open like the backseam on a fat man's pants.
Apparently, he was bleeding everywhere and, rather than go to a hospital, he just went home and got on with his life. His doctor friend insisted he stay with him and watch him overnight as Bob refused to go to a hospital or seek any medical attention. He would just go to sleep and wake up in blood soaked pillowcases and persevered in the same vein until it had healed itself, no doubt fusing shut- matted hair and all.

Now, I can't help but wonder... is this a boy thing? Some bizarre macho, "I'M FINE DON'T LOOK AT ME" trial of endurance that I will just never fully understand?
I cannot fathom ever being in this situation.. rather, if it were me I would most likely react a little more like this:

 And then call one of these...

So I could do this:

Now I'm not saying I'm a total hypochondriac but if something feels wrong, or I can't stop bleeding, I'm going to seek medical attention and sort that shit out. I would call a doctor, get some stitches then have a big fucking sandwich and a sit down because I'm sure I'd be a little rattled by the whole ordeal.

So my question is... When the hell did my fiancĂ© become The Six Million Dollar Man?  He's like this with everything.. he never gets sick (even when I'm coughing and spluttering everywhere) and he just magically heals when he shouldn't. Ear piercings for example, if he takes them out for work at his fancy job, the holes will just heal up after one day. ONE DAY. What the hell is going on??
Do I need this?
Or is this more of a Clark Kent/Superman situation?

All of these thoughts went racing through my mind as I sat there, holding my bedraggled TP'd foot up to the ceiling probably on the verge of wetting myself now.
I looked over at my phone to check the time and realised I needed to get in the shower before I was late for work. So I bit the bullet and hopped over to the kitchen. I grabbed the kitchen scissors and hacked into my makeshift dressing, hoping to free my injured foot.

To my absolute astonishment Bob's bandage actually worked. My foot looked like a crime scene but, it worked. It wasn't bleeding any more, it didn't hurt any more... I wasn't even hopping around any more. I felt absolutely fine.
After a long overdue pee, a shower and nice cup of tea, I was good as new.

And so I shall say this:
Bob, I think you are mental. But, when it comes to little scrapes like this, I will never question your methods again.

Watch me totally die from gangrene now.

My Life As An Imposter

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  1. I really enjoyed reading this post and truly believe your fiance could be Clark Kent!

    I'm glad your foot healed : )

    1. :) Thank you.. he's some kind of superherorobotman! x

  2. great post *_* your blog looks very lovely and interesting. im glad if you visit my blog, too<3 keep in touch!


  3. Very funny story to read! glad it's healed up.


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