Sheet Happens

Photo on 2015-03-16 at 13.07 #2As longtime readers of the blog know, I injure myself a lot.

This would almost be OK if the causes of my injuries were even the slightest bit manly. But they aren’t. None of them.

I would give almost anything to be able to say that I got all those stitches in my hand by thwarting a knife attack. Or that I broke my big toe in Desert Storm.

But truth is lamer than fiction. I sliced my hand open doing dishes. I broke my toe falling down a stair. That’s right. A stair. One. Single. Stair.

My most embarrassing injury, however, occurred last year when I broke my left ring finger.

“How did you do that?” my friends asked, noticing my splint.

“Hospital corners,” I’d mumble.

“Hospital what? You broke it in a hospital?”

“No,” I sighed. “I was making hospital corners. I was making my bed. I tucked in the sheets with a little too much enthusiasm, I guess.”

In reply, my friends gave me a wide-eyed, wary, unsettled look, as if I had just told them I contracted tuberculosis and then proceeded to cough on their iPhones.

I’d like to say that my sheet tucking injury was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. Less than a year before I had torn a tendon in my left middle finger doing the exact same thing.

Apparently bed-making is very dangerous.

I do learn from my mistakes, however. (I learn especially well when I make those mistakes more than once.) And now I can assert that my tucking-related injuries will now be a thing of the past.

I am proud to introduce The TuckMaster 2100!

TuckMasterYou might think this is a spatula. My wife thinks this, too. But you’re all wrong. This little beauty is a fully functional, time saving, injury preventing, stylish and aerodynamic, sheet tucking system. No moving parts! No batteries required!

It works like a charm. Now when I make the beds, I let the TuckMaster 2100 do the hard work. It effortlessly slips between the mattress and the box spring and tucks better than my hands ever did.

Better still, my fragile, brittle fingers are forever out of harm’s way!

Well, they’re out of harm’s way until I do the dishes. I still have no solution for that one.

Pray for me.

Ta Daa! The Winning Doodle!

Last week, the lovely and talented Sarah Wesson (whose blog is awesome, by the way) won the Third Semiannual Heylookawriterfellow Win A Doodle Contest!

I am an accident prone idiot, so Sarah’s prize is a Custom Made Mike Allegra Overcoming Injury Doodle! It is the first of what I fear will be many such doodles in my future.

Sarah could get a drawing of anything she wanted. She wanted a Caffeine Gnome. I had never seen a Caffeine Gnome before, so I winged it.

Hope you like it, my friend!



There Will Be Blood! (Mine)

I need to get me a bubblewrap suit.
I need to get me a bubblewrap suit.

My new house husband role is going quite well, I’m pleased to say. I like keeping things tidy and writing more often. I also like the fact that my efforts are decreasing Ellen’s workload. No longer does she have household chores to contend with. She can enjoy her new teaching job and take comfort in knowing that things around here are just fine.

Well, except for the injuries.

I’m a wee bit accident prone. No biggie; a lot of people are. My problem is that I only hurt myself when performing mundane housekeeping tasks.

I once tore a tendon in my index finger by tucking in a bed sheet. I wore a splint for six weeks because I needed hospital corners.

I have fallen down a stair, breaking my big toe. Not stairs, mind you. Stair. Just one stair.

I have fallen up stairs, too, onto a vacuum I was carrying. In that case I was uninjured, but the vacuum wasn’t; I broke it in two and, in so doing, became a human sized dust bunny.

And I have gotten four stitches in the palm of my hand in an attempt to clean dishes.

These accidents had not gone unnoticed by my wife, but she held her tongue — until the second day of my house husbandry. On that day I sliced my finger open attempting to slice a heel of bread.

Once Ellen came home from work and caught a glimpse of my crimson-stained, gauze-wrapped finger, she sat me down for a little talk.

“When we agreed to switch roles,” she began, using her best patient teacher voice, “you dying was not part of the arrangement.”

“I know.” I replied a bit chastened. “And the worst part was I bled all over the bathroom I cleaned yesterday. I had to clean the bathroom twice.”

“Noooo,” Ellen continued, her teacher voice revealing a hint of exasperation. “The worst part is the stabbing part. That’s the worst part.”

“Well, maybe, but the bathroom looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ellen sighed. “It’s beautiful. Just pleeease be careful.”

“I will,” I promised.

And so far so good! No new injuries.

That said, upping my life insurance is probably a wise investment. I’d better talk to Ellen about this right away. Tomorrow I’m planning to mop the kitchen floor. God only knows what could happen.