As I was describing to a friend yesterday how I was losing inspiration, I realized the cruelty of my comment. I think what I actually said was something like "my husband hasn't fallen lately, so I don't have anything to make fun of" or close to that. How evil of me and selfish. As if I never fall.
I have broken my two pinky toes more times than most people have even gone to the doctor in their adult lives. I have hit corners, cabinets and yes, the vacuum cleaner. That one was entirely HIS fault as he promised to put it up and forgot. It was a stormy night and I was running down the hall to close the living room windows - BAMM- there it was! Oh how that one hurt. I managed to hobble back to bed, tell him how useless he was and lay there with my toe pointing at him until daylight at which time I managed to get dressed and go to the doctor. It was shattered - beyond repair. All they could do was tape it once again to the other toe and advise me to keep it that way...forever! The good thing about shattering your toe is from that point forward when you bash it, you only bruise it really bad as there is nothing left to break. Well...the doctor recently reminded me about cartilage and muscle tissue when I was once again crying over the rainbow colored digit and blithering something about how could I ever break a shattered toe. Again, I was advised to keep it taped to the other guy - forever. There are options reserved for athletes but they sound more painful and expensive than tape and cotton balls.
Everyone in my family is prone to sprained ankles. I have been spared that handicap as I have rubber joints. Therefore, normally when I twist my ankle, I just bounce back up. There is slight pain but I can walk it out. I am also a devoted "walker". There is nothing I love more than long walks down the road, into the woods, through the fields or to the neighbor's house. Sometimes, however, we become overconfident.
One Sunday, I made my usual "to die for" biscuit and gravy breakfast with home made hashbrowns, grits, bacon and sausage and probably a few more things like eggs and mushrooms. Considering there are only three of us for breakfast, I waaaay overcooked and had plenty for the animals outside. They know the Sunday routine and sit impatiently on the front porch or in the front yard or where ever they believe may give them the best "attack the deliverer of food" vantage point. It's a challenge to run through the flood of kitties and dogs to get to a point far enough away from the house that the food doesn't draw ants. This particular Sunday, I was feeling friskey. So, I headed out the door a plate of biscuits and scraps in one hand, a pan half full of gravy in the other hand. As I bounded down the steps, they began gathering around me. I was not intimidated by the onslaught but quickened my pace instead. I hit that last step and heard the ripping and tearing of my ankle as I tumbled down, down, down to the ground. I was so shocked by the fall that I forgot about the gravy and it tumbled down, down, down on top of me. The awaiting crowd didn't mind. They simply leapt on top of me, the bigger dogs managing to hold me down with their weight while they licked and growled and the cats working on my hair and face while they attempted to get all the delicious gravy.
At some point during this fall, my husband heard the plate breaking. I suppose had that plate not broken, he would not have known I fell. I don't cry out normally as I tend to hold my breath when I am hurt hoping that I don't immediately begin reacting in other less lady-like ways. But there he was! He was swinging left and right, tossing dogs, cats and kicking in different directions as I was trying to collect my thoughts and figure out just what exactly was going on. There was pain in my foot, there was pain in my other knee and there was ....gravy all over me! I finally realized I wasn't going to easily get up even without the feline and canine weights on me and he helped me up. He's an expert on sprained ankles and immediately determined that I was truly injured at which point he announced he would carry me in.
After nearly 20 years of marriage, my husband is still willing to carry me - how romantic! So, he leaned over and tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of feed - a sack of feed I tell you! He turned around and headed for the door, swinging my head into the railing of the stairway. As I was trying to brace myself with my arms, he opened the door and swung my head into the casing. Then, he got me to his recliner and tossed me into it ordering me not to move. I was more injured upon arrival than I was to start. He was so proud of his manliness as he got some ice and made me an ice pack and advised me not to move. He forgot I was a big globby sticky mess and he forgot that he had bashed my head - or he didn't acknowledge he did it. The house cat immediately jumped up on me and began figuring out the best method of cleaning.
It took a while of discussion and manipulation of me and my poor foot but we got me cleaned up, back into the recliner and dosed up with aspirin so I could begin the slow process of healing. He took care of all the chores and let me rest the entire day - he even grilled me something to eat. Of course, we were not that hungry after the huge breakfast. Later on, we recollected the events of the morning and laughed out loud at the scene we must have presented throughout the entire event.
So, there you go! I too have fallen, broken things and been completely humiliated. But I still manage to figure out a way to pick at him and make it most certainly his fault. After nearly 20 years of marriage, if I have perfected nothing else, I am close to perfecting husband-blame for whatever situation arises. That's a skill people!
Snow Tire and Frozen Daffodil Festival
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