Ever get kind of a cool injury, but the story is so lame you can barely stand it the first time, let alone the 20th? I’ve always had a thing with coffee tables. Several have tried to kill me. My theory? There exists a dark underground network of low furniture, baby toys, and steps-of-odd-height seeking my destruction. Seriously. To this day I refuse to have a coffee table, namely for all the lame injuries I had to explain; the broken toes, sprained ankles and twisted knees.
Now, in my youth, let’s just say I burned the candle at both ends. Was there any lane OTHER than the FAST lane?
I was wild. I was known to go up “down”-escalators, tear tags OFF the mattress, and even only shampoo ONCE, people! Oh, I know danger. I’ve looked it in the eye. I have even…run with scissors, and do you think I EVER got injured doing ANYTHING remotely cool? Nope.
Fell over the coffee table.
Tripped over the cat.
Ran into the door.
Stumbled into a nest of Leggos.
Was ambushed by the garden hose.
What really stinks is when you get an injury that kind of cripples you, even a little—a bandaged ankle, a bandaged foot, a set of crutches—then you not only have to hobble around, but every person you meet wants to know. “What happened?” Because you didn’t feel like near big enough of a dumb@$$ when you went running for your cell phone, fell over the Tickle-Me-Elmo, then tumbled down the stairs and nearly strangled in your own shoelaces.
Uncool. Now my story.
So it was the 4th of July. When I awoke that morning, I felt an eerie sense that there might be trouble brewing, namely because Hubby was home and not at work. Being the AWESOME wife I am, I went to the store to pick up some treats for the holiday, namely Hubby’s favorite fancy vanilla soda made with cane sugar. On my way back, I selflessly fed some orphans and rescued a couple puppies and kittens, unaware of the dangers ahead.
I asked Hubby to put away the groceries while I tidied the kitchen. I’d been making from scratch homemade gluten-free pasta salad. Hubby “innocently” sits down in the living room and, I can only assume, waits for the scream. As I was putting away the pasta to cool, I opened the door. My hands were full and all I could do was watch the glass bottle spiral down in slow-motion and then BOOM!
…the bottle exploded and my foot was hit by Hank’s Gourmet Vanilla Soda shrapnel.
See my problem here?
NO WAY I TELL THIS STORY IS REMOTELY COOL!
The bottle explodes and cuts my foot. I have to remove said vanilla gourmet soda shrapnel from my own flesh, wrap my foot in what I can find to stem the bleeding (a dried-out baby wipe), and start cleaning the floor like the good Scandinavian woman I am. I bled as I mopped just like my Viking foremothers….
ACTUAL CONVERSATION WITH HUBBY:
HUBBY: What is all this blood?
ME: I CUT myself on YOUR cream soda booby trap!
HUBBY: My what?
ME: If you are going to try and kill me, could you use the cheap soda, please?
HUBBY: I wasn’t trying to kill you and why are you mopping?
ME: Oh, so not KILL me just MAIM me. Did you have to break cream soda all over the clean floor? Why can’t you booby-trap the fridge before I mop?
HUBBY: I didn’t booby-trap the fridge and YOU ARE GETTING BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE.
ME: I have to get the floor clean!
HUBBY: No, you need to go bandage your foot.
ME: But you don’t mop the floor properly!
HUBBY: *stern face* Don’t make me burrito you.
Hubby knows the trigger word to pull me out of the crazy-spin. He first used this term “burrito you” when, after 93 hours of labor and no sleep for a week I came home with The Spawn and started cleaning house and doing laundry even though I was so tired I was hallucinating…
ANYWAY, hobbling in my blood-soaked baby wipe, I CLEANED EVERY LAST BIT OF THAT FLOOR before tending to my own injury. Oma Johanna would be so proud.
Yeah, still sounds really lame which is why, now, when people ask about the 1/8″ scar I just KNOW I am going to get, THIS is the story I am going to tell…
On my way home from buying cream soda and helping orphans, NINJAS came out of nowhere, and I was in a high-speed chase across the Target parking lot and barely made it home. When I was unloading the car, I forgot that nitrate-free, no-preservative hot dogs, while good for your family and more nutritious, are the favorite food of the Chupacabra. And I know what you are thinking.
Aren’t Chupacabras nocturnal?
Yes, they are. Everyone knows that, but I can only assume the fireworks and general nocturnal asshattery that goes with the 4th of July must have kept the beast awake all night…making it especially hungry for nitrate-free hot dogs.
I don’t remember much. The foul creature must have gotten my foot before I pulled the recycling on top of it (because when I am not helping orphans I am saving the planet). Hubby followed the blood until he found me…
Doesn’t this picture look WAY cooler in black and white?
ANYWAY, my cut wasn’t that big for all the blood. Sad Face :(. Hubby just told me I was being dramatic…and to buy him some more cream soda since I broke one.
Have you guys ever had a really lame accident and you had to tell the same lame story over and over? What cool story do you wish it could have been? Tell it here! A sprained ankle caused by Sasquatch? Mosquito bites that were really the suction marks from alien probing? Get creative and have fun!
I love hearing from you!
To prove it and show my love, for the month of July, everyone who leaves a comment I will put your name in a hat. If you comment and link back to my blog on your blog, you get your name in the hat twice. If you leave a comment, and link back to my blog, and mention my book We Are Not Alone in your blog…you get your name in the hat THREE times. What do you win? The unvarnished truth from yours truly.
***Changing the contest.
It is a lot of work to pick the winners each week. Not that you guys aren’t totally worth it, but with the launch of WANA International and WANATribe I need to streamline. So I will pick a winner once a month and it will be a critique of the first 20 pages of your novel, or your query letter, or your synopsis (5 pages or less).
And also, winners will now have a limited time to claim the prize, because what’s happening is there are actually quite a few people who never claim the critique, so I never know if the spam folder ate it or to look for it and then people miss out. I will also give my corporate e-mail to insure we connect and I will only have a week to return the 20 page edit.
Winner of TWENTY PAGES OF SLAYING…um, critique is Karen Cunningham! Please send your 5000 word WORD document to firstname.lastname@example.org. You have until the END OF JULY (JULY 31) to submit your pages.
At the end of July I will pick a winner for the monthly prize. Good luck!
I also hope you pick up copies of my best-selling books We Are Not Alone–The Writer’s Guide to Social Media and Are You There, Blog? It’s Me, Writer . And both are recommended by the hottest agents and biggest authors in the biz. My methods teach you how to make building your author platform FUN. Build a platform and still have time left to write great books.