Dinesh, a man whose enthusiasm far outweighed his common sense, decided to try tightrope walking. Not on a tightrope, mind you, but on a length of garden hose stretched precariously between two very wobbly garden gnomes. His wife, Priya, watched from the kitchen window, a mug of chai in her hand.
“Dinesh, darling,” she called out, “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely, my love!” Dinesh bellowed back, already wobbling alarmingly. “It’s all about balance and… and… uh… gnome-related stability!” He lost his balance, flailing wildly.
The hose, predictably, snapped. Dinesh landed with a dramatic thud, a yelp escaping his lips. Priya rushed out, concern etched on her face.
“Oh, Dinesh! Are you alright?”
Dinesh groaned, clutching his leg. “Priya… I think… I think I’ve broken it.”
They rushed to the hospital. The doctor, a stern woman with a permanent frown, examined Dinesh’s leg with a professional air. She poked and prodded, muttering under her breath about “unnecessary risks” and “gnome-related trauma.” Finally, she looked up at Priya.
“Madam,” she announced, her frown deepening, “The x-rays show… nothing. Absolutely nothing wrong with his leg.”
Priya, confused, turned to Dinesh. “Dinesh, what’s going on?”
Dinesh, a sheepish grin spreading across his face, pointed to a bright red garden gnome, its ceramic head now neatly wedged between his legs. “I think,” he said, “I might have just… broken the gnome.”
