Brain freeze is a serious problem.

The last thing Henry Hanlin remembered was eating a cone of vanilla ice cream just a little too quickly. A headache set in, and then darkness. Medical professionals considered it the most severe case of brain freeze in history. Many thought he might never come to, but lo and behold, after ten years, Henry opened his eyes.

Henry's wife, Hilda, rushed to the hospital. After showering her long absent husband with kisses and tears of joy, she went about filling him in on what he had missed in the previous decade. But Henry did not care at all. 

He didn't care when she told him that his twin sons, Archie and Ronnie, had taken over his coat hanger company and run it into the ground by introducing a line of costly rustic hangers carved from the antlers of wild elk. Nor did he care when she told him that their daughter, Sylvia, had overcome her crippling fear of heights (she used to have panic attacks halfway up the stairs to the second floor of their home) and had won a ticket to be the first ever space tourist. And she only made it a few sentences into the story of how her egg-painting blog had earned her a multi-book deal with a major publisher before Henry interrupted her.

"Let's cut to the important stuff," he said. "How did they end?"

"How did what end?" asked his wife.

"My shows," he said. "How did all my shows end?"

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