Last week I sprained my wrist in bed.

Now, if you're smart, you'll stop reading right there. The facts of what happened will pale before whatever filthy scenario your mind is imagining now.

A glutton for punishment, huh? Okay, you asked for it.

I'm going to the effort of writing this account because I've told this story to about 351 people since this morning. In the future, when someone asks me about my wrist brace, I plan to just refer them to this site and go on with my life.

What happened is this - and really, this is very boring, so stop reading now - is that I was sleeping. I was alone. There were no handcuffs involved. Heck, even my cats had long since tired of my constant tossing and turning and escaped to more comfortable bedding, like the floor, or in Happy's case, the bathroom sink.

Anyway, I was sleeping. Sleeping on my left side, to be exact. My left hand was hanging over the edge of the mattress.

Here comes the exciting part.

I turned over.

Because of my sleeping condition I didn't remove my hand from the edge of the mattress before I turned over. I gave my wrist a pretty good jerk, and woke up saying a pretty bad word.

Two days later it still hurt so I went to the doctor. He told me to stop turning over and to wear this wrist brace.

Now, don't you wish you'd stopped reading back when your filthy mind thought I'd hurt my wrist during some orgy of depravity?