My husband is a klutz. I know it. He knows it. We’ve come to accept that about once a year he’s going to do something stupid to injure himself that requires a road trip to the ER. We’ve been there four times in the last five years. I was thinking he was overdue, until I got the call today.

"I hurt myself again."

"What now?"

"Pulled a hamstring and it’s painful to walk."

"How’d you do it?"

"I tripped."

"Good one."

Since he could drive himself there, I just said "Call me when you get home" and let it go at that. I know he’s in good hands, the hands of all the ER doctors who know him by name.

Here’s a rundown of his visits over the years:

  • Poked himself in the eye with an arm of his glasses. Putting them on his face. His face has always been where it is now and I’m not sure how he could get it wrong that time. "Honey, look. The directions say they go on your nose, not in your eye."
  • Scratched his cornea while washing his face. Again with the face. Stuck his finger in his eye and then it blew up all freak like.
  • Fell off a 4-inch step and sprained his ankle. I don’t let him climb ladders. Or step stools.
  • Broke his thumb carrying a TV. His brother dropped his end and Dave’s thumb got in the way.

While I’m somewhat sympathetic to his propensity for injury, all I could think of today was "Great. Now how are we going to move the old couch and chair outside to make room for the new furniture coming tomorrow?" He can barely walk.

I ignored all the moaning and groaning while we not-so-carefully shoved both pieces out onto the patio. We’re going to throw money at the delivery guys tomorrow to move the pieces to the curb for trash pickup on Thursday. Only problem with that is they’re coming very early in the morning.

So this is what all my neighbors will be seeing in my driveway ALL DAY LONG. We were hoping to schlep it out there in the dark of night so we don’t look too much like The Beverly Hillbillies. Hey, at least it’s not on the front porch, where all good hillbillies park their furniture.


p.s. The cats are completely stunned at this point. With nothing but cushions and tables in the living room, they either think we’re moving again or we’ve gone the bachelor pad route. As one reader pointed out to me after reading what Lucky did to the new coffee table, the cats believe the house is theirs and they’re not too keen on what we’re doing to it.

Stumble it!