OK. So those of you that are closest to me know my life is somewhat of a sitcom. Since leaving my job last year, my mornings are no longer a comedy sketch, but gaining on the normal side of life. However, incidents throughout my day are likely to wind up in a book of laughs someday.
So last night has to be written down somewhere, so I can go back and laugh at it. I cannot laugh now, as it hurts too much to laugh and I still don't find it very funny. But I have been assured by my darling husband that it is funny. What a fucker.
As I made my way out to our garden, checking the progress of a few varieties of tomato, peppers and the stunning growth of our two watermelons I stepped on a rake. After firmly planting my foot down on the steel tongs, I realized my mistake and went to shield my face. However, unlike the stud I think I am, my reflexes denied me protection from the wooden pole that came upright way to quickly and cracked my own melon with a proper thud.
By the time I could see light again (this took all of two seconds probably) I was holding the tender spot on my forehead that had withstood the whack and was throbbing like a live heart in a science experiment. The proverbial "goose egg" was formed within seconds and I rushed into the house to pronounce to my husband that he was an idiot for not putting the rake away.
Of course, once he found out what had happened he started to laugh like a hyena until tears formed in his eyes. Insensitive bastard. He couldn't really love me, now could he? How can he be laughing when I was in such pain?
I do realize that this sort of thing only happens in cartoons, comic strips, and bad comedy routines, and apparently now in my life. So maybe, just maybe I will find it funny ... someday.
But I nursed the egg with an ice bag and went to bed early last night. But not early enough to witness something that was truly funny. And it just so happened that it happened to my darling husband.
Should I tell? Dare I tell? Those of you that know my husband know that he is the strong, silent type, while I am anything but. I don't care to tell the world how I feel, what I do, and I publicly make mistakes everyday. But Paul is not that way and I can't help but think that I will shred away a layer of trust by telling his story. I will leave it up to you. If you want to know, then leave a comment letting me know that you want to.
Aug. 25, 2006
No comments:
Post a Comment