Wes came home from retreat yesterday. He somehow managed to get home during the two minutes Lucy and I were out of the apartment between 9 and 9:10pm so she could go pee. (I think he was coming up in the elevator as we were going down.) So when Lucy and I got back up to the apartment, she went nuts, having picked up on his scent. She raced around the apartment for literally two minutes, looking in the bathrooms, the closets, even staring out onto the balcony to see if he was out there. (She also found it necessary to jump on the bed to check for him there. When she didn't find him, she jumped down, then checked again.) When she rechecked the master bathroom, she finally found him -- standing in the shower with the curtain pulled shut. It was hilarious seeing her hunt for him.
Wes returned a little tired from a poor night's sleep but seemingly otherwise unscathed. Oh, yeah -- except for the four or five neatly circular bruises he acquired while playing paintball with his colleagues. One graces his forehead.
Why do emergency room doctors seem to show such poor judgment in their extracurricular activities? I have an idea -- let's pick an activity in which someone can put out an eye!
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