What do I have to do, scream for sympathy?

I fell down my basement stairs last night, or rather, I fell up the stairs. It's a rare talent the women in my family possess for completely missing the next step and falling backwards. Nobody could ever accuse us of being graceful. I was trekking up from doing my umpteenth load of laundry, and fell back down five stairs scraping and bruising my shin and whacking my hip. And what does my lovely husband do about it? Nothing! He was washing dishes in the kitchen and completely ignored my plight. I spent the rest of the evening pointing out the injuries I had sustained, trying to lay on the guilt that he didn't come to rescue me. His defence was "I thought that you were either dead, or didn't need help." Obviously if I had really wanted sympathy I would have bawled at the top of my lungs until he came to save me. Lesson learned - when in doubt, take the lead from Tristan and cry for attention. What's good enough for him, is good enough for me.