If It Comes in Threes...
then I am going to go batshit insane.
In the last 48 hours, I have had two inanimate objects drop on my head from a great height. It's to the point that I'm shying away every time I open a door.
Scenario One: The Cottage Outhouse, 5:36 EST
Eric built an outhouse, with help from Dominic. Lovely outhouse, very comfortable, etc. etc. Beats hell out of squatting in the bushes, I can tell you. It's not quite finished; the seat needs sanding and it's not entirely shingled, but still very nice.
I go to the outhouse. I shut the door. I see stars. Some brilliant individual has left his industrial stapler on the ledge over the door. Needless to say, it is no longer there. It is now somewhere near my toes, and I have a goose egg on my forehead. Much amusement is had by the person who left it there, plus our guests.
Scenario Two: The Clock, time unknown
We have just arrived home from the cottage, exhausted and crabby. One of us is nearly two, one of us drank too much, and one of us is sick of putting up with the hungover and the juvenile. I am unloading the cooler with perhaps a touch of unnecessary vigour (well, really, who brings a cooler in holding it vertically? Yeesh); once finished, I remove it to the outside porch. In opening the door, I whack the cooler against the door frame. I see stars. The damn clock comes down and hits me full on the head.
Well, that's it for me. I burst into noisy tears and Eric has to lead me to bed and put me down for a nap.
Do you really wonder why I'm spooked today?
In the last 48 hours, I have had two inanimate objects drop on my head from a great height. It's to the point that I'm shying away every time I open a door.
Scenario One: The Cottage Outhouse, 5:36 EST
Eric built an outhouse, with help from Dominic. Lovely outhouse, very comfortable, etc. etc. Beats hell out of squatting in the bushes, I can tell you. It's not quite finished; the seat needs sanding and it's not entirely shingled, but still very nice.
I go to the outhouse. I shut the door. I see stars. Some brilliant individual has left his industrial stapler on the ledge over the door. Needless to say, it is no longer there. It is now somewhere near my toes, and I have a goose egg on my forehead. Much amusement is had by the person who left it there, plus our guests.
Scenario Two: The Clock, time unknown
We have just arrived home from the cottage, exhausted and crabby. One of us is nearly two, one of us drank too much, and one of us is sick of putting up with the hungover and the juvenile. I am unloading the cooler with perhaps a touch of unnecessary vigour (well, really, who brings a cooler in holding it vertically? Yeesh); once finished, I remove it to the outside porch. In opening the door, I whack the cooler against the door frame. I see stars. The damn clock comes down and hits me full on the head.
Well, that's it for me. I burst into noisy tears and Eric has to lead me to bed and put me down for a nap.
Do you really wonder why I'm spooked today?
posted by Coco at 11:11 a.m.
10 Comments:
Better be careful. Know what could fall on your head next? The big, bold, blinking "L" over your head.
*gasp* I think Monsty just called you a Loosah!
Better a Loosah than someone about to have their first postpartum sexual experience. *coughsquirtingbreastscough*
Um. Okay. That? was the worst three hours I have had since we got him.
Anyway, I just wanted to come back and tell you that you really make me laugh and I do hope your head feels better. Have Nou-nou kiss it or try putting a block of frozen poutine on the bump.
ETA: Worst three hours meaning the ones just spent walking him up and down the street as he screamed.
Oh. I wasn't sure what you meant by "three hours" initially.
But I'm sorry. That must have sucked and seemed neverending. *smooch*
Did you put him to bed early today?
Poor Nutty. *holds ice bag and bag of peas on Nutty's head*
Perhaps the third was me. My garage door opener flew off the visor last Friday and hit me in the head. Conner of course picked it up and pressed the button about 30 times, sending the door up and down, up and down. No booboo kisses either.
I wondered too about the three hours. I was going to suggest no cigars or beer beforehand.
heh. I too wondered about the three hours.
Coco, honey, I got stuck at "cottage outhouse" and couldn't get past that. I was finally able to read on and winced once or twice. Poor Nutty. *smooch* head
So glad that Monsty clarified the three hours. *shudder*
I think I'll let you clean out your own fridge tomorrow, mkay?
Awwwww, poor Nutty. You need an emergency visit to Starbucks. I'll be by in 30 minutes to pick you up.
*smooch*
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