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I came home from work, knowing my husband with a hernia would have a friend around to help him with some of his chores.

I walked in to find them sitting at the table, waiting for me.

"Don't freak out," they said.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Put your stuff down," they said.

"Why, what is it?"

"I need your medical attention," Frank said, and I immediately thought he had ruptured himself.

Then, he looked down at his leg, which I then noticed, was bloody and dirty and looked like it had been peppered with scrapnel.

"Oh," I said. "What about the hernia?"

"It's fine, Lisa, look at my leg."

So, while I tenderly (well, mostly tenderly) scrubbed and cleaned his leg, they explained:

They were inflating the back tire they had just put on the tractor when it exploded at the bottom, sending shattered gravel flying for several feet.

Frank was wearing shorts.

And the truck was parked nearby.

(After cleaning out all the dirt and blood, it wasn't too bad, mostly small, peppered spots, but two or three wounds are real gashes.)

So, our beat up Ford has some new dents in it, (thankfully the windows were down) and my husband - stubborn, hard-headed, #@$&*# man that he is - could really use a stitch or two.

But, we got out the butterfly bandaids (the kind that pinch a gap together) for Mr. I'm-not-going-to-the-hospital, and did the best we could.

I got out the colored bandaids for the smaller wounds, and picked all the pink ones out and used them on purpose.

If he's so tough, it won't matter if the #@$%*# red-neck mountain man is caught wearing pink.

The main cut (and swelling and bruising) is right on his shin.

Boy, Mr. I-don't-take-pills-not-even-an-aspirin is going to be sore tomorrow.

But, at least he didn't rupture his hernia.

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Want to know more about DeLaHaye? Visit her web site at WV Travelers , or her online store at Impecunious Impressions, or read her weekly column at The Calhoun Chronicle.