As they walkedto their car, he opened the door then tripped. He heard his anklego snap. He got into the car then told Johanna to stop at theemergency ...oom at the hospital. She asked why, and he said he'dhurt his ankle and wanted them to take a look at it. Johanna waited in the waiting area as they X-rayed and treatedhim. Then a doctor came out and told her he had a broken ankle.Then the doctor got a very serious look on his face. "Your husband told us why he was wearing a dress. He also. Why don’t you get off me so I can go grab them?” “Oh,” she giggled, “right.” She stood up, pulling the puppeteer’s finger out of her still moist vagina, fixed her skirt, and then walked straight over his head giving him a perfect view of goal he had been so close to achieving. He stood up and awkwardly tucked his erection into his waistband. He then begrudgingly gathered a couple of logs and threw them on top of the kindling. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and tried to light the. Hopefully my hormones would hold out long enough for me to not do something stupid.“Wait up,” he said as he caught up to me by the elevator. “You can’t drive home like this. You’ve had too much to drink.”He wasn’t wrong, but there was no way I was sticking around. “I’ve had three, I’ll be fine.” The elevator doors finally opened and I didn’t hesitate. No one was inside and the expansive view was all around me. He held the doors open and looked at me. “You are not fine. We’re getting a room, end. I waited out at the reception area while Colonel Simon and her Harvard trained shrink discussed what the Colonel thought was a moderate case of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). In short order, my physical profile was P-3 (permanent severely limit capacity) in lower extremities, hearing, eyes and T-3 (temporarily severely limited capacity) under psychiatric. With PTSD the Public Affairs flaks considered me a loose cannon, so they dropped me like a bad habit.That night I looked up some of.