The latest chapter in the Adventures of Mr. Buffy is simultaneously impressive and super gross:

He squatted down to adjust the wheels on the lawnmower and in the process of this very masculine activity grabbed something to steady himself.

The exhaust pipe.  Turns out they are very hot.  

He did say some very bad words because his hand had a lot more angry blisters on it than it had a few minutes prior but that was it.  No screaming.  No tears.

Times like this I'm sure he feels so lucky to be married.  I was there to recoil in horror and get pissy at him when he refused to go to ER - what would he do without me.

Oh, and I brought him a bowl of cold water, which he kept his hand in while insisting on grilling dinner (refusing my offer to cook), getting his own beverages for the rest of the night (refusing my rare offer to wait on him), and even refilling his own water bowl once pooch #2 decided he was thirsty and Daddy's hand bath looked delicious.  

And he even cleaned his own wound and applied how own antiseptic ointment because apparently he secretly hates me and needs no nurturing of any kind whatsoever.  

Ask him about it and he just says it stings a little, but it's fine.  But he's home from work today so methinks his owie is bothering him more than he lets on. 

If this were me when I wasn't whining aloud I would be screaming in my head...and I sure as hell wouldn't have made dinner.  Or gotten my own iced-tea.  

But as we've established, he's not me.  

We've had this conversation several times already...and I expect a couple more rounds when I get home tonight...

Me:  

Him:  

Seriously some loose gauze will keep it clean and fine...yes...it will keep innocent bystanders me from having to look at it.