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 email@example.com. 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.
Thanks for making me laugh. <3
Years ago, my roommate had some growths removed from her foot, but was on crutches for nearly a week. Instead of admitting the truth, we told inflated stories of resolving our roommate quarrels with timed rounds of mixed martial arts. Our friends goggled at us until we cracked up and admitted the wounds were inflicted by the podiatrist. 🙂
Hahahaha! Oh gosh, Kristen. You’re hilarious! I love the blood spatter analysis. 😀
Don’t feel bad, Kristen. After my second child was born, I decided to join Ballys and start working off the baby fat. In one of my first ventures into the world of mechanized exercise, I somehow managed to get thrown from an exercise bike. I was upside down dangling from the front of the handle bars when rescued by a special ops team from the weight room.
OMG, Kristen, I totally feel ya. Sometimes I’ll find a bruise on my hip or leg and know I bashed into something, but it happens so often that I don’t pay attention to it anymore. We only got a coffee table (round one) 19 years after our first child was born.
I threw my back out once, stooping down to pick up a piece of LINT. I kid you not. Wish I’d thought to tell people I got it from rescuing dolphins from fishing nets, but I just settled for leaving the lint part out of the story, LOL.
Feel better soon, and watch out for kamikaze soda bottles! Couldn’t help but notice that you also stopped to take pics for the blog post, too. 😀 Way to go, girl!
Ha Cool Thanks now I know the next time i get poison ivy and i look like i been dropped in hot grease to say…a werewolf drug me into the sunlight and I almost burned (this vampire burns in the sun still )lol
I LOVE the weetle BURRITO!!!
This is all true..but I did clean up the bottle glass, wipe the floor, get the antiseptic, and a cool band aid. I manage chaos well.
I’m laughing out loud because this is SO me! A co-worker once gave me a T-shirt that said “I do my own stunts” after one of my more crippling/embarrassing uncool-storied accidents… AND I relate to the Scandinavian cleaning-instincts (though for better or for worse the Viking-blood is diluted in my case)… My Norwegian grandmother used to put her canned goods through the dishwasher before putting them on her shelves… And THEN put the empty cans through the dishwasher before throwing them away. (Anybody wonder why I claim my Irish roots but don’t talk much about the Norwegian?)
Here’s raising a (plastic-bottled) vanilla soda to you and wishing you a speedy recovery! 🙂
“Well,” you ask, “how did you get a cast on your hand on the 4th of July?” I pat my cast proud to have done my patriotic duty. You see, after the Chupacabra attacted Kristen it headed for Taylor, Texas and tried to steal the fireworks display. I can only guess that it was his turn to provide the entertainment at his families’ holiday picnic. Anyway, as any good America and especially a loyal Texan would, I tackled the beast. He twisted my fingers until they broke but I didn’t let go. The fireworks were saved.
Sounds way better than I fell out of a chair. And no, I wasn’t drinking, really.
Freya, the Norse love goddess, sex goddess, and queen of the Valkyries, would be proud of you! She’s probably saving you a seat in Valhalla.
Ah ha ha ha! Yeah – I broke my fibula bone down by my ankle last summer. How? By walking to my kitchen from the living room. I didn’t trip over ANYTHING. My ankle turned, the bone snapped, and down I went, howling in pain to an empty house. Within 3 minutes I’d crawled to the freezer, gotten an ice pack out, crawled back to the living room, got onto the couch, elevated my ankle and put ice on it.
THEN I cried. Took the damn bone almost 5 months to heal. So, yeah – I know dumb stories! Feel better, honey!
I walked into a garden fork that was lying on the garage floor – carrying laundry so couldn’t see my feet – and had to have injections and antibiotics and everything. And then I fell over the cooker door, which was down because I was getting stuff from the fridge and couldn’t see my feet… I could go on, but you’d cry. 🙂 And yes, I mop my own blood, too and I’m not in the least big Scandinavian – although I suspect half Welsh counts.
That should have readf “bitd”, not “big”…
I’m giving up, now. If the trolls yell at me because I’m having a bad typing day, I’ll ignore them.
Ha! Love it! totally relate. I almost walked into some expensive glass art at work yesterday bc i was walking while texting. Glad I missed that story opp.
At 44 I tore my ACL (the ligament in the middle of your knee) playing Musical Chairs. My Dr just stared at me. Then I had to tell the story again to the PT, he laughed. Neither had ever had to rebuild or rehab a Musical Chair injury before. No it is more for you wimping sports like football, skiing or basketball. What can I say I’m very competitive. Did I mention I went down in front of 500 witness. Most of them middle school kiddos. The cute part? While I was on the stage trying NOT to cry the football player went down on one knee. I did drive myself to the clinic.
I broke my ankle on my FIFTIETH birthday trying to “spring” onto a horse. Yeah, that went well. Gravity is definitely a b*tch. Definitely should have made up something much better. Chased by a bear, perhaps? Trying to save orphans? Kicked an alien?
Woman, we are more alike than you think. May you heal swiftly and with a sexy scar.
I broke my arm opening an iron gate that fell of its hinges. Not even remotely cool, and yeah, even random strangers at the gas station wanted to know how I did it.
Every one of my kazillion injuries are lame: arm surgery for scar tissue from carrying a couch, broke both bones in my leg fly fishing, tore ligaments running, stepped on a broken sewing machine needel, broke my toe kicking my brother — I could go on.
Klutzes of the world, unite! Rise up against the Man (and the stairs, and the Chupacabras, and . . .)
Glad you’re all right. Bottles are dangerous. A 2 liter plastic one exploded in a store and coat saved me from being cut by the plastic. The truth is sometimes stranger than fiction for most.
They say laughter is the best medicine. I sure hope it works. An owie is still an owie. Feel better soon.
I love your sense of humor. I’ve had too many weird accidents to relate here. The worst one was when my daughter and I were waiting at five am for Black Friday store opening at Ridgmar. We were talking and laughing and I was looking at her instead of where I walked. Tripped over one of those bump things to stop cars. Reached for the car on either side of me, so didn’t have my hands in front to break my fall. Landed on my face. My daughter missed grabbing me by two inches. I thought all I had was broken glasses and a bloody nose and refused to go to the emergency room.. The next morning when I waked up I looked like someone from a fright movie–a technicolor movie because I was many colors. I wish I had come up with a great story. The truth is so lame. It was still dark when I fell, so I could have said I battled a chupacabra, couldn’t i? Another missed opportunity.I think better on paper than in person. ?
Glad I’m not the only charter member of Klutzes, Anonmyous. Wish I’d thought of the Chupacabra excuse over the past 6 weeks while I’ve had my arm in a sling after shoulder surgery. It’s a lot better than “I was pulling out a chair at the restaurant.”
Cute story. And soooo much blood!
This was toooo funny. You should have told your husband you were protecting him from the demon sugar! From working with horses for years, then dogs, I’ve picked up a myriad of injuries. One day my BIL and I were comparing scars, especially on our hands, him being the manly man he thought he was. He pointed to various sports injuries, so I had to show the long scar across the palm of my hand, and say “Wolf” (the event was nowhere near as much fun as the scar!) His only reply was to point to an old scar on his thumb, and admit “guinea pig.” And he had to admit I was probably tougher
She’s tried that, but I still like my fancy sodas. One of the few guilty pleasures I have. Of course, I side with the chupacabre on this. Hey, chupacabres are fantastic pets, yall should be asking her what she did to it..
Lots of laughs from this post, Kristen. But yikes, your poor bleeding sole! Looks pretty gruesome. I’m quite a klutz and avoid drinking from glass glasses whenever possible. Even with plastic cups I’m always knocking them over and spilling water, usually. And if I’m not knocking them over with my hands, I’ll bend over and my big butt nails the glass on the coffee table. No witnesses to that, good thing. I lost count how many times I’ve spilled my drink (or someone else’s) and broken glasses. Son-in-law says I’m only allowed to drink from plastic cups while babysitting Punkin. Not too cool to have glass shards around a baby, huh? I’ve tripped over our dogs I don’t know how many times (especially when they’re laying just outside the bedroom door or behind my desk chair), stepped in holes and turned my ankle, without spraining it since I was blessed with being double jointed (which there’s really no such thing – it’s loose joints the doctor told me). I’ve fallen off stools while reaching into the top shelf of the closet, only to land on it toppled sideways, unscathed, with my daughters aghast that I might have broken my back. I’ve been pretty darn lucky with all the trips and falls I’ve had but did get a goose egg on my shin by blocking the dog from coming into the house when he wasn’t supposed to. He walked into my leg and it swelled and bruised instantly. That was the strangest thing. I couldn’t walk on it for a day. I better start thinking up some good stories starting now because I think I just jinxed myself by putting it in writing how lucky I’ve been. I did break an arm once, but it wasn’t mine. I rode my bike in front of a friend’s bike. She turned to avoid hitting me and fell and broke her arm. Now I’m really going to pay for laughing about it!
The best part of being a klutz is that we always have great stories to share although I don’t think any of us can top yours, Kristen. BTW, if you’re going to have a bottle land on your foot, try chardonnay. Your toe may break but you’ll still have the chardonnay to act as a pain reliever. I broke all the cartilage in my nose because I put my snorkel mask on too tight in order to keep the nasty salt water out of my contact lenses. When I told the ear, nose, throat Doc how it happened, he advised me not to share my story with anyone. Thanks for the morning giggles.
I broke my little toe while trying to ascertain if that was in fact the FedEx guy on the street below my apartment. Split the toe on a 3x3x3 box full of BOOKS. You know, Large, heavy, devoutly educational. Managed to get the one corner of the box jammed between toes and POP. Sat down, realized what just happened. First thing to do, obviously, take a picture of it. Then try not to pass out from the nausea and pain. Whee, a trip to the E.R., isnt’ that what we all want to do after work? One sadistic er doctor, an orthopedist and 9 hours later, I was hobbling around in a surgical shoe feelin’ no real pain. Thanks American Pharmacuticals! And no, it was not the FedEx guy. Lameness complete.
I slipped a disc once because I bent down to tie my shoe. Lame! Nothing even attacked me. My back attacked itself. Someone once told me that if you ever get an injury from doing something mundane, you should just say, “Sports injury” whenever people ask. Supposedly it makes you instantly cooler 🙂 Personally, I think the Chupacabra approach is much more exciting!
Oh my gosh. I am currently sporting the very fashionable velcro shoe that they give you when you break a toe. No meds, mind you. Just the one thing that will make sure that every person I meet notices I’ve injured myself and will ask what I did. Me? I walked into a shrub. A SHRUB. The creation of a thrilling story was beyond me, so now I just tell anyone who asks that I broke it kicking the last guy who asked me any personal questions.
I never go to the doc for a broken toe. Not a lot they can do that I can’t with a popsicle stick and some tape. Just sayn..
And I broke mine about a month ago, surprised Kristen hasn’t taken a picture of it. Lol
Ah yes, I am all too familiar with lame injuries that look fabulous. I once broke the last bone in my right foot while tripping over a floor mat. No one was available to drive me to the hospital but me. I went to make sure it wasn’t broken (yeah, right). Two days later, I had a big black boot to wear for a month. I still subbed at that time and got to tell the story to 100+ curious teenagers. At least it was winter and I had a good snow boot (snow feels good on a broken foot). I hope you get better quick!
My worst was tearing two ligaments in my knee while walking off a trampoline, not jumping, not hopping, walking. I told everyone I was practicing gymnastic vaults and landed wrong, ala Mary Lou Retton!
I believe you. Chupacabras are wily beasts. Anyway telling folks you were attacked by a pop bottle, that you especially bought for your husband, somehow sounds like fortune is attacking you.
Hmm, broke a toe rolling out of a hida-bed. That was epic. I put it back in place and called my boss to tell her I would be running late and moving slow. She called me back two minutes later and told me to stay home.
The worst one was when I some how cut (fairly deeply) into my palm just under my thumb. Yeah, get a bandage to stick to THAT without wrapping the wrist… and then come up with a cool story that will pass the scrutiny of high schoolers…. Didn’t happen. Solidified my place in geekdom.
Okay…but wait…if you were standing on the floor and the pop fell out and exploded…how did you get a cut UNDER your foot? I’m just studying the image of your drippy foot….
Well, she jumped about a foot in the air when it landed on her and shattered, then she landed on top of that.
That makes sense…and much more drama! I’m picturing an Ang Lee move…
Does running into my neighbor’s van while husband’s trying to teach me how to drive a motorcycle count as a lame injury? There was lots of blood running down my leg. That should count for something on the epic scale, right?
LOL, Kristen. I have my own similar story, but it was a jackalope.
What Kristen is leaving out, and this the REALLY embarrassing part, is that she managed to find, and be attacked by, the only chupacabra in the entire North American continent with a foot fetish.
LOL. No wonder my nail polish looked “nibbled.” 😀
when I was a more adventurous fellow, my fellow rugby players and I used to call the black eyes, deep black and yellow bruises and big scrapes glory injuries. “What happened to you?”
“I play rugby”.
My sympathies on the kitchen injury. I’m still recovering from mine from a couple weeks ago. Of course, it was one of those very unglamorous stories that if I ever retell it, I will come up with something much better than what really happened!
Hope you heal up quickly and don’t have to spend much time hobbling.
Ha ha! Hilarious (but I’m laughing WITH you)!! It definitely becomes necessary to embellish. Although, I don’t know, this story is pretty great as is. My hub once cut his toe on the ladder getting out of a boat on vacation, a boat that had taken the whole family snorkeling. He and I managed to convince everyone he’d been bitten by a shark. We kept it up for two days.
*snort* I’m not laughing at you. No, not really. *giggle* I hope your foot feels better and has stopped bleeding by now! I managed to break my nose on my husband’s shoulder once. We were newlyweds, and he was chasing me around the house tickling me. (yes, tickling. No, it’s not a code word for something. I’m very ticklish!) I ducked and tried to run in a different direction and…well, he’s 6’3″ and I’m 5’2″ and yeah…he’s like a wall to me. So when I hit him, that’s all it took. It swelled quite nicely and the black eye was impressive. We told everyone in the CVS that I’d rescued him from a terrorist gang. I’m pretty sure some of them thought he’d beaten me. In hindsight, I’m glad nobody called the cops lol.
It was summertime, I was thirteen, and my girlish ways had never been successfully taken from me, no matter how much my baseball-loving best friends tried. Not only was I an exuberant little late-bloomer, I was also quite fond of classic television. Each time my computer would start, I had it set to play the theme song to the Love Boat. Obviously, I was fast-tracking my way to coolest kid in school. To add injury to my self-insulting ways, I decided that jumping around my room like a ballerina would really make the theme song that much more fun. It turns out, however, that landing on your big toe is something that takes a real ballerina years of training. I came down fast and hard, cracking my toenail in half and breaking my big toe. I couldn’t wear anything but saltwater sandals for the rest of the summer, and had to keep my poor toe wrapped up for quite some time thereafter. There was no way to explain the story and maintain any shred of machismo dignity, the thirteen-year-old boy who broke his toe dancing in his bedroom. The toe has never been the same, since, and it serves as a reminder. Every time I catch myself thinking I’m normal, I look at my goofy toe and remember that I was a little off from the very beginning.
Ha! Love this.
Ah, Kristen! You are definitely unique! I hope you’re foot heals quickly. Foot injuries suck. But I haven’t laughed so much in a long time while reading your story. You have a way with words. Thanks so much for sharing.
I sprayed myself in the face with Febreeze. Also I cut my finger pretty bad while washing a spoon. Yes, yes that’s right. So don’t worry, Kristen, I know how you feel. 🙂
I was running out to trescue the washing on the line from the rain. Dog ran ahead to help. Dog stopped suddenly. My foot hit her foot and – smack! Lost my balance and into the concrete path went my head. We have a noisy two-storied house and they heard the thud from inside. Result? Concussion and an impressive egg on head. Retelling?- prefered not! The other stupid one was when putting up a portable gazebo for son’s engagement party. A strong gust of wind caught it, flinging it from everyone’s hands into the air, then smacking the sharp metal pole into my scalp. 8 stitches later and a stupid ’round-the-head’ bandage, this special party was memorable for all the wrong reasons. I’d rather say my brain exploded – but in a good way!!!
I hope your foot gets better. You poor thing! I loved the bit about getting “Burrito”. LOL on the Chupacabras. Keep posting I love this blog and your writing.
Awwww, thanks Denissea. I appreciate the compliment *hugs* :D.
I truly appreciate your usage of “asshattery” to really set the scene so vividly to the reader. Barbie shoes are my current nemesis.
One hundred three-eighty degrees in Buffalo, but you have me grinning and not likely to stop.
— from one who knows a lot about boobie-trapping not only the fridge but the high shelves in the cupboards. Watch it! That was close.
Good gracious, here I go admitting this one to the world. I broke my pinkie toe walking into the bathroom to use the facilities early one morning. I am NOT a morning person, so I wasn’t looking when my foot slammed into the door frame. But I looked right after and saw my pinkie toe perpendicular to all of the other toes. No way was I going to tell the lame door-frame story for what happened.
Instead, I put together two stories and chose one depending on my personal relationship to the listener. Most people got a story about me playing tennis and diving for a fabulous shot that won the game but made me skid into the net pole and break my toe. A select few friends got the (what shall I call it?) great-sex-headboard story. (I made my hubby look pretty darn good in those moments. LOL.)
Of course, whenI finished the story and was asked, “Really?” I came clean. I don’t know why they didn’t all guess it was my clumsiness in the first place. Don’t these people know me?! 😉
Love the chupacabra attack story. I totally believed it.
My friends and I got into the habit of pushing over dead trees in the woods behind our college–for a while. We gave that up when we ran across one that housed a yellowjacket nest. I know that I ran the best quarter mile of my life that day, up and down and up the ridges of southeastern Tennessee.
This now being years later, I’ve used that incident in a story that I just submitted for an anthology. Writers need highs and lows in their lives.
Oh, I wrote a whole epic poem (well, sorta) on my great battle with the Gatorade bottle.
I have multiple scars. Tripped over an underwater boat dock, ran into a circus wagon face first…all in a day’s work for me.
And those weren’t even the times my older siblings tried to kill me!
When I was little the first Matrix movie had just come out. I loved it so much that I decided it was humanly possible for me to run up the side of a tree and flip around, landing back on my feet. So after school a few friends and I decided that’s what we were going to do. No one got hurt the first few times. But I decided to land on a piece of bark and embed it into my bloody knee like a dork! So here I am, walking out from behind the park fence that sat beside our school, clueless and smiling at my mom. Then I get in the car and she’s looking at me like I’d grown three heads out of my left arm. I had blood all over my knee (how did I not notice this?) and a piece of bark stuck in about an inch deep.
Oh yeah, I was sooooooo cool. Keanu Reeves would have been proud. It was also extremely fun telling people about that one. NOT!
Then there’s my big toe’s nail I had fall off because I hit my right foot with the heel of my left foot while exercising. My toe is still pissed off at me. Although the funniest part is that I kept telling people my TOE fell off, not my toe NAIL, without even realizing it.
Yeah, I have scars on both my knees. They got chewed up when I fell running to first base in a softball game. I was a fill-in player, surprised myself by hitting the ball, then basically slipped on the dirt while trying to run at full speed. Staggered down the line windmilling until my knees crashed into the ground. Wish I could at least say I drove in the winning run, but all I got was bloody knees!
those damned Legos!
All of my injuries have been lame. But I’ve never gotten to make up a good story. However my sister had surgery and we decided that she fought a group of bikers who were trying to drown a puppy. She knocked four unconscious, but the fifth snuck up on her and cut her with a dull rust knife before she stabbed him and threw him into the river. She took the puppy tot eh vet to make sure it was okay before going to the hospital to have her own wound tended.
I laughed through the whole post, though I kept thinking, Poor Kristen! Okay, here is my klutzy story. My husband was barbecue king in the back yard. I decided I would be the baked bean queen in the kitchen. I used an old hand can opener to open my secret recipe. Yes, I cheat when it comes to baked beans. I admit it. Anyway, that dang can opener was useless. I probably could have grown my own beans and soaked them before cooking in the time it took to open the blasted can. So after I got it to work about 3/4 of the way around, I gave up and pried the lid the rest of the way open. Yeah, you’re thinking this is where the injury occurred right?. Nope. The barbeque king came to the window to ask what I was doing. I picked up the can and said…”cooking these.” Then being the “save the planet and recycle” girl that I am, I turned on the tap to wash out the can before pitching it into the recycle bin. I never made it to the recycle bin.
Why are you sitting at the edge of your seat? You want to know what happened next in this boring story? Oh…well, like I was saying, I washed out the can–and dropped it.
Instead of letting it drop, I caught it. Yes, I grabbed it with both hands. but being the klutz I am, I missed with one of them and jammed the jagged lid right into my wrist.
I stared at it…looked up at my husband still standing at the window and said. “Well, crap.” I yanked it out and found out what tendons looked like once they are severed. (they roll up into your hand like a broken rubber band)
I grabbed a dishcloth and held it to my wrist and said: “Oh crap.” . He ran inside. Now I will do what you did and give a sample of the conversation:
Hubby: “Why did you say oh crap?” Glanced at the stove and stirred the beans. “They’re done.”
Me: “Me too. Take me to the hospital.” Showed him my dishrag wrapped wrist.
Hubby: “Oh Lucy…what have you done?” (He calls me Lucy from I lLove Lucy days, but sometimes switches it up to Carol Burnett–not sure why.)
Me: “I cut my wrist”
Hubby: “Very funny. Now lets eat.”
I show him my wrist.
Hubby: “Oh crap.”
After the emergency room doctor determined I was just Lucy, or Carol, or a Klutz, instead of trying to kill myself, he stitched me up. It took a long time but he was HOT, so I really didn’t mind. I didn’t have any feeling in my fingers for awhile, but that eventually came back. The tendons weren’t all cut, so I regained use of my hand.
My husband bought me a electric can opener and hid all sharp objects.
When people asked what I did…I told them I was defending my family from a robber with a knife who tried to steal my secret recipe for baked beans.
Oh, okay, so I didn’t tell them that. I actually spilled the beans and described what really happened. No one was surprised. I am always tripping over inventive ways to make myself look stupid. 🙂
Kristen, You are too funny and I think you may have too much time on your hands. although if you dropped blueberries and milk at the same time you cut your foot it would really be a 4th of July story, Get it, Red white and blue lol.
Such marvelous stories. Over the years I have had my share of klutzy embarrassments (including ripping my knee open going up a down airport escalator at 2:00 a.m. (not the best time to find a sticking plaster!) More recently–in the early spring of last year–I was taking my daily trek down the street to the Post Office. At the corner, I turned and slipped on a hidden patch of ice. Hurt like hell, but I figured I’d just twisted my ankle, bruised my shin. Even when a local passerby stopped his car and asked if I was ok, I nodded stoically, hauling myself up with the aid of the newspaper vending maching. I hobbled over to the P.O., then the block back home. Grabbed some oce from the freezer and put my leg up, then had my housemate call my doctor who said, best get to the ER. Once there I discovered I had a fractured fibula and a cracked ankle and shouldn’t have been able to stand, let alone walk. For the four month it took me to heal, I liked to say that it was an early morning ambush by Green Mountain Gnomes. They came into the Village and booby-trapped the sidewalks with spider-silk tripwires, near invisible to the naked eye but strong as steel. The village officials have since taken to regular pavement sweepings–an effort, I like to believe, is at least in part a response to my Gnomic mishap.
As a teen, I stood looking up into the sun waiting for my baton to come twirling down. It did, on my nose. I know: stupid. The nose has never been the same since. Glad you are okay.
One evening, as I prepped veggies for dinner, I dropped the big and very sharp knife I was using. It fell point down, bounced off the toe of my shoe, and wedged into the floor, whereupon it trembled like a new recruit being dressed down by the drill instructor. Spouse stared at me, open-mouthed with shock. I simply said, “And that’s why I wear shoes when I cook.” Then I pried the knife out of the floor, washed it off, and resumed chopping. Spouse stepped back, just in case the knife went wild again.
My mother rolled her car into my knee, jacking said knee and putting me on crutches for 6 weeks. She also ran over Spouse’s foot not once, but three times as she backed up and then rolled forward again. TG he wore steel-toed boots. My mother was dangerous with her car.
I did giggle at this Kristen. Only last week I sprained my ankle playing with an English Bull dog I had the pleasure of sitting for a week (I moved in with him). I had to crawl back into the villa in agony, not sure it hadn’t broken, while a very excited, strong chunk of muscle, bull-dog dived all over me. It was agony and not entirely without sphincter moments. Ahem. The dog is soft natured, but he could easily kill, if you get my meaning. And at eye-level, I imagined the latter would be my fate. All alone (my husband, and the dogs owner were out of the country (Dubai) and I don’t even drive), I stumbled around with my swollen ankle for a week – with the crazy, excitable chunk of muscle diving for my face at every opportunity.
That is not a cool story, and my bruises still remain after a few weeks recovery time, but hell… telling people I earned my war-wounds in the throws of battle with mighty elves or evil an gang of ninjas, or even in a cat-fight over the latest Jimmy Choo sale just doesn’t seem right? 🙂
You are a Nut. But I like you. I really do! LOL
Oh, I knew we have a lot more in common than Texas and writing. I have had so many not-so-funny accidents, I lost count of them. Broke my nose pole vaulting in my back yard. Broke my ankle several times, none as more interesting as when I tripped on a handicap ramp. Honest. I was coming out of the grocery store and stepped on the rounded part of the ramp. Ankle went one way and I went the other. My purse went flying across the parking lot with things sprinkling out along the way. The boy wheeling my groceries out asked, “Are you okay?” “Yes of course, this is how I go to my car all the time.”
All I could think was I hoped that nobody I knew was at the store. Of course that hope died the minute I heard from several voices, “Maryann. Is that you? What happened.”
Gotta be impressed with your ability to take action photos in the middle of a vicious cream soda attack.
This was a much needed laugh this AM. Love the story and dialogue. I have added your website/blog to my blog at http://www.smtraphagen.wordpress.com. Hope the toe is better!
I’m sorry you hurt your foot! Darn sleepy Chupacabra!
Never, ever stop using humour in your posts. Too funny for words!
Unfortunately I don’t have any stories quite like that to tell. Just a sprained ankle from walking downstairs in a pair of clogs. O.o