So we've started to pack up our little apartment... there are boxes scattered around our tiny place marked "Books" and "Clothes" and "Mirrors" -- oh the mirror box... We have these big ass mirrors on our walls... I'm talking probably 50 pounds each. Ok - so as I type that it doesn't sound too heavy, but still bigger than your ordinary mirror. Well this past Saturday it was the mirror vs. Josh... and the mirror won.
Josh bent over to pick up this mirror so we could roll it in a blanket and pack it... he leaned forward to blow a little dust off and I hear "AHH!" - immediately Josh hobbles into the bedroom, tries to lay on the bed, but can't straighten his body -- it was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. Then, he starts to strip off his clothing (because he's profusely sweating partially because of our heavy-lifting day in the Santa Barbara heat and partially because his body is now in panic mode) and then curls up into the fetal position... so now I have a naked husband that is both wincing in pain with spurts of giggling on the floor of our bedroom... and I cannot stop laughing... I mean helping...
Anyway - we eventually got him on his feet (and obviously that's when we took the picture up above... yep...) and since then he's been on the floor of our living room, legs propped up, popping IBuprofen, and icing with frozen peas... and all for the sake of a freaking heavy mirror... poor baby!
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