The other day, a wine glass fell from the great height of the
counter and shattered on the floor. While i was in the process of
sweeping it up, i managed to step on the teeny-tiniest grain of glass. i
was like the lion with a thorn in it’s paw. Anyway, Sir and i went out
onto the back porch to begin thie slow painful process of Him digging it
out. Of course, i was fussing and hollering, wimp that i am, until
finally i decided it would be easier (pulling the bandaid off quickly,
as it were) if we just slit it down the middle and scrubbed out the
glass. Medical professional i am not. Seeing as we don’t keep scalpels
handy, i ran and got a paring knife.
Apparently Sir thought that was a
fundamentally stupid idea, so He wrested the knife from me, hauled me up
and dragged my ass inside to continue His minor surgery.
No sooner had he grabbed the antibiotic ointment when there was a
knocking at the door. Standing on out front step were three officers in
uniform. The neighbors had called in a domestic disturbance!
So Sir and i were separated, and i had to explain the whole thing to a
very intimidating female officer ( you would think they would be a bit
more approachable, those ones ), and after an admonition of “next time,
maybe you should just go to the hospital”, she and the others went on
their way.
Lesson of all this? We need to move to the boonies. Neighbors are too far up one’s ass in suburbia.
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