I was Chasing a Cat...

Okay, I've been trying really hard not to tell this story but I can't hold it in any longer. One snowy evening in the middle of December, my wonderful husband went outside to take the trash out. He took a little longer than usual, but I thought it was probably because he spent 2 years in Siberia and knew that you should walk slower on ice. I was wrong. When he finally came back in, his elbows were covered in blood and the rest of him was covered in that stuff that mud and snow make mixed together. I immediately felt sorry for him, because I figured he had had a tragic experience like the ones I have all the time. I pictrued him walking treacherously slow (as I would have done), slipping on the ice (as I would have done), and then trying really hard to fall gracefully while avoiding serious injury (as I would have...failed to do). Then I pictured him having a personal crying spell and then working up the nerve to go inside and admit the ice's victory. This is all how I would have done things. His story was a little...different:
"I was chasing a cat and then I hit a patch of ice. I did that whole cool thing from movies where they try really hard not to fall and they sort of run/fly in place for awhile before they land flat on their backs! Cool, huh?!" I was still stuck on the line, "I was chasing a cat," and it took me a while before the rest of it sank in. Needless to say, men and women handle things very differently.