Whoever's got their evil-eye on my husband better cut it out

A couple of things:
One, someone has definitely put the evil-eye on Lars. He is having the worst month in the world. First, about a month ago he got this evil cold/flu thing after we went bowling. What started as a mild hurty throat turned into full-blown viral ick. About two weeks into his black death he had three of his impacted wisdom teeth removed. The mega combo of Bubonic Plague and fucked up mouth only made both problems worse. His gums got infected, more painful and though I never looked, I'm told more disgusting. Meanwhile, his mild cough became a full on muco-placia fest. Bleh. THEN... after two weeks of not healing, despite consuming the motherload of antibiotics... he got some sort of stomach bug. Puking and moaning ensued. By Friday morning he was feeling better, but decided to take the day off of work just to recoup. At about 11:30am I get a phone call at work.
"Guess where I am."
"No, where?"
"The emergency room."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"No."
He had started doing our dishes and nearly sliced off the tip of his pinkie on our chef's knife. He ended up with 7 stitches and confirmation that God officially hates him.
I haven't even mentioned all the dishes he's accidentally dropped and broken or the car accident we almost got into, but was completely not his fault.

All of this brings me to my current gripe...have I ever mentioned how much I hate doing dishes? Well, it's phenomenal... it's Guinness....it's epic. And now, due to my injured, albeit adorable husband I'm stuck doing dishes for god knows how long. I honestly don't know if I'm going to make it. My hands are pruned and it actually hurts slightly to type. I feel violated.