Part I: The C-word

As I alluded to in the last post, it hasn't been a very good year.

Two days after almost burning the house down (The Incident), I went to the doctor and got some bad news.  But before I go there let's step back to a week, before the fire debacle and prior to that horrific appointment - to our Florida vacation.

"It's so nice spending time here," Chris told me as he dusted the chest of draws then stood back admiring the new trinket we picked up at the Salvation Army.  "You'd never know we paid $2.99 for it." 

"It looks good," I said not bothering to take my nose out of my Kindle. I only had a few more page left of  Water for Elephants.  Beside the ice pack felt good on my aching back, a persistent problem for the last year - I didn't want to move.

 "Aren't you glad I talked you into getting this place?" He was referring to the condo.

"Um, wasn't it me who chose this one?  You wanted that older style unit, the one with a view of a street and tiny little backyard."  I pointed to the golf course out our bedroom window.  "Even though we don't golf I'd much rather look at the greens."

He smiled.

It was a persistent joke. Who could take credit for a decision - be it big or small?  Of course the condo purchase was mutual but the chide makes for a little fun.   Usually it's me on the losing side of this little game.  For instance, after being forced  to do something I don't want to - watching AMC's The Walking Dead is a good example - I eventually come around to loving it.  In the middle of a particular heightened scene, I often say, "I'm so glad I talked you into watching this show."   My stance is usually met with a flippant, "mmm-hmm."

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the vacation. 

"So where do you want to go for dinner?"  I asked putting the Kindle down and adjusting the ice pack.

"I don't know.  You want to go to Ezra's again?  I have another LivingSocial we can use." 

We bought three or four $25 gift certificates for $5.  We gave some away but still had a couple leftover.

"Yeah, sure!  It's a tad pricey but what better way to spend our last night here.  You know  I love their calamari salad."

"Should we make reservations?  It might be busy on a Saturday night." 

We went the prior Monday and had the entire place to ourselves.  It was nice; we got to know the general manager and staff quite well.  But a quiet night at Ezra's was an anomaly.

Let me make a call."  I grabbed my BlackBerry, their number in my contacts. 

The unassuming exterior of this restaurant, nestled in a strip mall,  hides some of finest food imaginable.   The wasabi vinaigrette  on their calamari salad is fantastic.   For an entrée I knew I had to get the grilled skirt steak; I hadn't had it since our last visit in the fall.

Crystal, the hostess, couldn't fit us in till seven.  We've only been there a handful of times yet she knew us by name:  "Is this Rick of Chris and Rick?" she asked.  She was happy to have us back.

With some time to kill before enjoying some of Bradenton's finest food, one thing led to another.  And in the pinnacle of our fun...

There was blood.

My blood. 

"Oh my God!  Are you okay?"  Chris asked.