Tuesday, August 20, 2013

A Series of Unfortunate Events: Told

Given my hiatus from the blogging world and the state of my recovering body (AKA bumps, scabs, burns, and bruises), you'd think either my husband started beating me or maybe I was in a really bad accident. As it turns out, I'm just a complete klutz who can barely walk across a parking lot without falling flat on my face and skidding across the pavement as if someone pushed me while I was in a dead sprint, or (a more a likely scenario given my luck) slipped a decomposing banana peel under my unsuspecting feet.
What is it about time that makes it slow down in moments we want it to the least or speed into a blur whenever we'd like it to stretch on forever?
It's a funny thing, what happens to your mind when your body is acutely aware of it's impending doom. Everything becomes so clear; the world pauses. Time skips a beat. I had an hour to comprehend exactly how bad landing on heated asphalt was going to hurt, but less than half a second to plan how to approach meeting the ground in a graceful manner. Due to the adrenaline of my automatic flight or fight response (which apparently was definitely not "flight" since I lost the battle with the pavement), I was completely oblivious to my ruined pair of dress paints and all four acutely injured extremities, due to the utter embarrassment of getting a pity response from a bystander who tried to make witnessing my cartoon inspired moment less awkward by telling me she was clumsy too.
It's amazing how much I never knew I use my left elbow until I continuously inflicted torture on myself post injury by pressing it against the driver's side car door to push it open or leaning it against the wall to balance myself while bending over to grab something. I was accidentally marking my territory with blood stains on everything in my path (because getting a bandaid to stay on longer than 2 minutes in 110 degree heat is a joke).
Becoming the stinky girl in town was easy, since I refused to take more showers than absolutely necessary. Standing under running water is quite painful when you're missing your half of your knee, and I'm sure all my neighbors could hear me screaming when the soap hit the raw flesh where all my epidermis layers once subsided.
Not even a week later, our less-than-a-year-old microwave died. Did you know the more you use your oven the more your risk for oven burns increases? If that statistic didn't exist before, I just proved it should. And to think, my hot glue gun burn had finally healed.......
Yup, I'm pretty much a hot mess right now, but the good news is it's not due to an abusive husband. If anything, I'm the "mean" one. Every time I get hurt he's appropriately sympathetic, and takes such tender care of me. And each time he stumps his toe, hits his head on something, or flips over the handle bars of his mountain bike going 40 mph down a hiking trail, I laugh so hysterically it should be a crime.  It's hilarious. I can't help it. And every time, he looks up at me as if I'm a stranger and says, "What's wrong with you? Why are you so mean? Don't you love me?"
I do. I love him. I just have some crossed wires.
I also love to show off what a good cook he's becoming! A couple of weekends ago, he won a friendly brisket cook-off competition at the White House (where Carrie got bit on the lip by a pip-squeak dog, causing me to laugh so hard I couldn't talk for a solid 5 minutes), and just last week we went over Tim and Lara's house to eat some of Patrick's amazing homemade pizza. I even made some fresh bruschetta using veggies from my garden! Never-mind the dessert pizza turned out tasting like burnt cocoa puffs......it's all about trial and error. Besides, if it weren't for burnt pizza, I may never have fell in love with Maple Pie.
I throw the word "love" around a lot. But I love as much as I laugh.

Do you have a problem with laughing at real life slap stick situations or inappropriate times? Did you know Dave writes about all things in life that are worth writing about?


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