My friend gave me a plaque that read, My next husband will be normal. I didnt realize how fitting it was until the morning I announced to the husband, Im taking a quick bike ride before breakfast. I should be back in half an hour or so. He nodded, heading toward the garage to tear apart a motorcycle.

For a moment, I hesitated -- wondering if I should skip my morning ride. I had a migraine and my fibromyalgia and arthritis were acting up too, making it tough for me to even walk. But I was determined not to let my connective tissue disease get the better of me. I was not about to give in to pain and alter my daily schedule of walking, biking, and aerobics class. After pedaling only about a mile down a deserted sand road, the strength began to drain from my body like air leaking from a balloon. I felt weak, like the energizer bunny without batteries. My ears started ringing and things around me appeared to sprout black fuzz around the edges. My legs went limp like cooked linguini and my body folded up like a cheap lawn chair. Things got blurrier then went totally black.

I awoke in the ditch to the smell of mud and the weight of the heavy bike across my chest. My head and ankle were throbbing. Bits of gravel were embedded in my skinned palms. When I tried to sit up, the world began to spin again and I felt like I would hurl; so I lay back down in the dirt. Since I couldnt make it home on my own power, I had no choice but to wait for someone to happen along and help me. Knowing there was rarely any traffic on that road, I clung to the hope that the husband would come to my rescue. Hell be along any minute, I reassured myself. He'll know something's wrong when Im not back home at the usual time.

I assumed that when he realized Id been gone too long, he would wonder if something happened and hed come looking for me. I was wrong.

I continued to lie there in a rain puddle with rocks and a discarded Pepsi can digging into my back. I felt flaccid like a marionette without strings. Each time I started to stand up, I felt faint, so I spent a good part of the morning lying there at the side of the road.

I pulled grass and a cigarette butt from my hair and spit the sandy grit from between my teeth while watching dead leaves, gum wrappers and other litter blow past me. When a McDonalds bag tumbled by, I wondered who had eaten their Big Mac here, in the middle of nowhere, and then recklessly thrown the trash out their car window.

After a while, the local bugs discovered me. Bees buzzed around my head, ants crawled up my shorts, and Japanese beetles tickled my thighs.

Meanwhile, the sun grew hotter as it rose higher in the sky. I lay there for what seemed like eighteen hours, and I didnt have on my 18-hour bra!

After a while, I finally felt my strength returning. By this time, I had become painfully aware that the husband was not searching for me. Giving up any hope that my knight on horseback was coming to help, I muttered to myself, If I want to get home before the winter snows come, its up to me to get myself there.

Using the bike for leverage, I pulled my woozy body up on quivering legs. I couldnt tell if it was the world spinning or just me wobbling. Half standing and half slumping over the handlebars for support, I trudged home. All the way, I mentally rehearsed what I would say to Sir Galahad when I got there.

Staggering into the front yard, I heard cheerful whistling coming from the garage. For a moment I forgot the ringing in my head and the pain in my ankle. I dragged myself toward the whistling and shouted weakly, I passed out in the road and waited for you to come looking for me!" The husband looked up from his project in surprise, but he said nothing. "Weren't you worried about what had happened to me when I didnt come right back?"

"I didn't notice that you were gone that long," he replied. I was gone half of the day! I yelped. He stared at me with a puzzled look.

I could have been killed, flattened by a moving van or a beer delivery truck! I told him. By this time, I was angry enough to spit hammers; but he still just stood there, silent. I wondered if, while I was gone, hed been zapped by a lightening bolt and struck dumb. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag and shrugged, as if he couldnt understand what I was upset about.

My inward parts could have been spilling out all over the road, I ranted, I could have been devoured by wolves, weasels, or wild cats! He just scratched his head. My eyes could have been plucked out by vultures, coyotes, and hungry arachnids!

All sorts of vermin could have been feasting on my flesh . . . but you didnt even miss me!

Sorry, he said, almost in a whisper. He sighed, turned around, and started back toward the garage. Suddenly, he stopped and looked back. I waited expectantly for some delayed display of sympathy.

Oh, he said, let me know when lunch is ready.

I was too weak to choke him, but as I fell in a heap on the front porch step, I made this resolution: If I should ever have a next husband, I will definitely attempt to find one thats normal -- if thats even possible. Wait a minute. Maybe this sort of behavior IS normal (for a husband). I hadn't thought of that!