Husband busts a foot! (Fill in as hostess)

My husband isn't the kind of man to feel bad for himself, or to make a fuss when he gets hurt. But when he is carrying a living-room chair out to the table to seat one of his guests, he drops the lounger square onto his toe. "Dammit! Fuck! Shit!" he cusses a storm, he's very mad. "Heather," he calls me over, "I broke my god damn toe, and I have to go to the hospital."

"Well, I'll drive you, dear," I offer dutifully.

"No, no, I'll drive myself to the hospital,"

"Well, I should go with you, dear," I offer.

But he says, "No, you can't come with, the guys will be here for poker in a couple of hours. I'll probably be running pretty late; hospitals take for god damn ever. You've got to host them, baby. Now god damn give poppa a kiss and get yourself made up, I'll be back when I'm back." He gives me a sweet, sad little kiss, carries the chair the rest of the way to the table, grabs his keys and is gone.

And I've got some work ahead of me!