some of you, Gentle Reader, (OK - it was Linda. happy?) asked me about the joke regarding the Husband and his present of a scooter.
enjoy this rerun, won't you? i think it'll make everything clear.
the best laid plans...
oft' go to hell in a handbasket.
I'm home right now. I should be in Mexico, drinking beer & eating lobster tails
Saturday night. B & i are up in Hesperia, at our friends for a BBQ. We have eaten steak (yum), seen fireworks & are now gathered in the living room for a yak fest.
And here's where it goes to hell in a handbasket.
Someone comes running in, saying something that sounds like "your husband broke his finger."
Broken finger? Brendan? Nahhh.
He comes in the house, his face the color of concrete. My friend's mom, another Valerie, is behind him. He has a towel over his hand, and i see blood.
Blood. Not good.
So, believe it or not, i MAKE him sit down. He was just standing there, looking all loopy. He sits, and i pulled back the towel on his hand and thought, "hey, this doesn't look too bad."
Then he turned his hand over.
(here comes the gross part)
There's a laceration about 1/2 long, and deep. How deep? Deep enough so i can see his bone.
Sing with me, kids! Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To The Hospital We Go.
I won't give a blow by blow of all 5 hours there in Emergency. Sufficed it to say he got 5 stitches, and luckily, didn't break it, only dislocated it. One or two good pulls by a cute blonde PA. (and surprisingly, whenever she walked in his treatment room, suddenly his pain level went up 150%), and he was good to go. Literally. A tetanus shot & antibiotics followed.
So needless to say, we decided against Mexico.
But how did this happen, you ask?
My darling, wonderful, usually intelligent husband decided he was going to ride TWO Razor scooters at once.
Hit a rock.
Down you fall.
If there's a lesson to learn (and there is), it's this: don't think you're Evel Knevel at 45.
It ain't gonna happen. All you'll get is a trip to emergency.
And 5 stitches.