Over six weeks with severe tendinitis and braces on both arms and wrists. Fish tank maintenance has been a struggle, and there seem to be more and more Endler's every day as the boys refuse to stick to the abstinence only programs and jump into sorority tanks at every opportunity The house is also getting quite furry, with Pomeranian fluff mixing with everyone else's hair and wafting up into the ceiling fans. My hair is particularly dangerous as it is long and thick with a history of clogging drains and getting wound up in the turning parts of machines. My hair has brought our Dyson animal vacuum to a halt at times, requiring temporary dismemberment as we cut it out of the parts. Yes, I have tried cutting it short in the past, but I always come out looking like I did the first year of life when my hair stuck up straight. In that way, I have always resembled my father when he came out of the army in 1946 :0 The physicist has broken down several times at my request and brushed it for me. I have not asked him to floss my teeth, however, as we both need more personal space than that. Hubby was already looking quite shaggy when I was sidelined, and he said he would go out for a haircut for the first time since we got married decades ago. We were at his parents', and his mother sent him to her salon, which proved to be a traumatic event. Anyway, the weeks went by, and he looked more and more like Einstein. When I asked him about it, he asked me again to cut his hair. I held up my swollen hands and said no, he was going to have to find someone else. At last, he got onto Yelp and found a barber with a 4.5 star rating and over 300 glowing reviews. It was a tiny place, but it was perfect for a shy technophile who just wants a trim, no mousse or extraneous massaging, please. I has asked him to brush the Pomeranians, but he failed in those efforts. In particular, the rescue Pomeranian princess I gave him as a surprise birthday gift a few years ago walks all over him just like our daughter does with him. Finally, I asked him to take the infant nail scissors and trim the matted fur behind her ears. I had to ask him to redo it several times, but it was finally done, and now at least her head is presentable. The frail, elderly Pomeranian boy fared much worse, as he took a large pair of scissors and hacked off the mattes that were looking like pantaloons under the tail. (It is not possible to take him to the groomer as this dog is very skittish, rather like the physicist). Later, I found hubby curled up on the bed with several dogs for company. I leaned down to kiss him when I discovered that his ears were scratchy. "What happened to the hair on your ears?" I asked, horrified, thinking that the barber had gotten too close and personal with the scissors. "I shaved them when I trimmed my beard," he explained. "But they were soft!" I exclaimed. "You said that they looked like Cinnamon Bun's ears." "That's not a bad thing, that's a good thing," I told him. "Hairy ears are what makes Pomeranians so cute. " "I am not a dog." "But why do you think I find you attractive?" "Are you saying that I'm not as attractive now?" "No, not exactly," I said, "but you are all stubbly now." "Stop petting my ears!" Sigh. Things are really getting out of control at our house.