I'm concerned for crocoWife.  In the last year or so she has broken a toe, broken a finger, got some crazy skin-eating fungus on another finger, been diagnosed with tendonitis in her shoulder, endured a heinous ocular migraine that made her think she might have a brain cloud, and last weekend felt the pangs of a possible muscle spasm in her back.  Most disturbing of all, however, are her reports of feeling "tired."  That's the clinical term.

Lucky for her I'm like Columbo when it comes to research, and webMD informs me that her fatigue could be a symptom of a dire problem.  For example, she might have Hypothyroidism, Fibromyalgia, or a Congenital Heart Defect.  Tuberculosis, perhaps?  No, those are just wishful thinking, crocoWife's level of exhaustion is clearly more serious than those wimpy diagnoses.  My money's on Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS).

Other symptoms of CFS include: muscle and joint pain, check.  Unrefreshing sleep, check.  Sore throat, check.  decreased ability to think clearly, check.  As you can see, my concern is more than warranted.

Treatment includes regular visits to an acupuncturist, daily intake of dogbane and knob grass, and nightly voodoo ceremonies capped with the capture of a wild mongoose whose fur is rubbed against a balloon, creating enough static electricity to power a George Foreman grill, upon which a hamburger is cooked and eaten by the CFS afflicted individual.

Or maybe she has a cold.  And a child that never gives her parents a single fucking moment of god damn peace!  In fact, I believe there is a correlation between the onset of CFS and the birth of our child.  But I digress.

crocoWife's lucky she makes kick-ass chocolate-chip banana muffins, her magical culinary skills prevent me from trading her in for a new model.  And when I say "magic" I'm not kidding around.  Poof!  There's dinner!  Poof!  There's waffles!  It's amazing!  I lay around on the couch and poof!  Banana muffins!

Speaking of new models, I took my car to the dealer for service last week and requested a loaner car for the day.  I expected a 1976 Datsun or some other old jalopy, instead they gave me a shiny red Mazda RX-8.  Because they recognize the pimpness.

(P.S. If you didn't catch the "brain cloud" reference, go rent Joe vs. the Volcano.)