Conversations With Greg

After I severely trounced him in a round of The Lord of the Rings Deck Building Game that I should have lost...

Greg: I don't even know why you let me join your little posse. 

Me: Posse? It's not a posse! It's a Fellowship!

Greg: A fellowship is what you have at church. You get a bunch of hobbits together and it's a posse! 

I'm An Idiot.

This story dedicated to my dear BFF Jen. Because these are the times she misses living with me. She calls these Stupid Susan moments.

Most of you know that I've suffered chronic back pain for the past 12 or so years. It's been mostly tolerable since I started living a life of leisure as a bon bon eating housewife with no responsibilities whatsoever. (That was sarcasm, people, shut up.) There's been a point with both my children, sometime around their first birthdays, when it becomes intolerable again. Something about hauling giant children around does that to me. Anyway, for the past month or so it's been mostly awful and I've been drugging myself to high heaven most days just to be able to move. The cream I'd been using as a topical backup plan is no longer widely available so I've had to resort to using a different brand which smells awful and burns like Hell. And yes, I used the proper noun there for a reason. Fast forward to about an hour ago...

I'd doused myself in muscle cream a few times this evening so as soon as the kids went to bed I jumped in a nice hot bath to soak my aching muscles and wash off the offending smell before I ran my poor hubby out of bed with it. I soaked for a few minutes, rubbed my shoulders a bit to help loosen things up, then went about getting clean. I slathered on the face cleanser first and let that sit for a second...

***screeeeetch***

Rewind that and read it more carefully. This is a reading comprehension quiz. Note the order of events...

It took about 10 seconds for my face to start burning. CRAP. I'd rubbed my shoulders, covered in acid, and then smeared them all over my face! So of course I grab a washcloth, dunk it in the tub and start scrubbing my face.

You know how to activate muscle cream? Rub it in.

You see where this is going, right?

Also, I'd been soaking in that tub for a good ten minutes before this started, so the water was a wee bit contaminated with the stuff already...

I was smart enough at this point to rinse out the washcloth with cold water from the tap and splash my face. I figured I'd just have to let it run it's course for a minute for the burning to stop. In the meantime, I'd just distract myself from the agony by doing something useful. Like shaving my legs.

This is the part where BFF Jen is laughing at me, because she knows how much blood I lose shaving when my face isn't pealing off.

You wanna know what happens when a tub of water contaminated by acid meets an open cut on a freshly shaved leg? No. You don't. Meanwhile, one I realize that my face AND my leg is on fire, I react quickly... by slicing open my ankle with the aforementioned razor.

By this point I realize that an intelligent person would drain the offending water from the tub, run fresh water, and get the hell out of the tub. So I do. I dry off, sit down on the toilet seat to get my feet... and realize the cut on my ankle is worse than I thought and I have ruined my bathroom rug by bleeding all over it. As in, pools of blood soaking in. I bandage the wound, grab the rug, and try to figure out how to explain this one to Greg who is between me and the washer.

After avoiding his questions and throwing the rug in the washer I decided he knew I was an idiot when he married me. I turned to go back and explain the whole thing and realized I was bleeding again and had tracked blood all the way to the washer.

Because I'm an idiot, people. And if you didn't know it before, you know it now.

And Greg just offered to take me to the ER for my ankle. I think he was kidding. Maybe.