Things best not found out.

The autumn blahs are upon us.

I have been moderately out of commission in the evenings (when I write) for the past week. I have injured my back and am giggling with the tremulous discomfort of sciatica.

No sciatica isn't that weird stuff you heard done in a movie you would never watch. It's when the longest nerve in your body gets stepped on. This gives you lovely strings of pain down one leg from butt to ankle. The pain is a cross between synchronized leg cramps and riding a seatless bicycle on a Texas gate.

For some reason that makes me grouchy. And tired. Pity my family.

And yet pity my poor sister more. She is in the throws of dealing with kidney stones. I had a friend describe that experience as the closest thing to having a baby. My sister will now be able to pass judgment on this issue when she passes the issue at hand.

Some families take one-downmanship too far.

But for my dear sister's benefit, and levity, I will make the attempt at writing tonight. And I feel guilty for not sending her a rock garden starter kit so she has somewhere to keep her stones later.

One thing that I figured would bring some humour and smiles to my young family was to fake my own death last weekend. I was changing 48" fluorescent light bulbs in the kitchen because I'd put it off for one week already.

Being 'new' light bulbs, my wife was doubly afraid. One for my crippled state in which after sitting has me wandering around like Quasimodo with a wedgie. The other was because of my handyman-like skill with things I haven't done before.

There is the credit I get from my family. Concern over a putting in a light bulb. I'm a living joke.

My two little girls, ages 7 and 5, were in the room. As was my wife who was grousing about me putting in a light bulb and falling off a chair. And so I said:

"It's ok, they just push in and twist like this..... AAAAAAHHHHHAHHHAHGH!"

I was a bit too accurate with the death scream. My wife and older daughter were bordering on tears. The love of my life began to give me a well earned piece of her mind about that stunt when we all noticed the 5 year old.

She was holding her hands in front of her mouth. And she was giggling. At my supposed death.

Yes, this is the same child who found humour in suggesting killing "special people". It makes me wonder if my will is properly made out.

I am glad she did because it did get me off the hook. So I, like Homer, have now vowed not to fake my own death. I don't want to anymore because I'm afraid of who else will find it funny.