I'm fine, sweetheart, really!

Bobby has to do a first-aid course at work. (Because the IT industry is becoming more and more dangerous, perhaps). It's a four-day course; yesterday was the first day. He may not make it through the next three days, though, because I swear I will kill him the next time he prods at my breastbone to find the optimum CPR spot, or assesses my (healthy) limbs for breakages, or attempts to put me in the recovery position at times when I am not only conscious, but also walking and talking. I'm just grateful that we don't have any of those defibrillating paddle things in the house.