Friday, September 28, 2007
Who woulda thunk that my adorable husband would be the thing to bring me back to blogging on a semi-regular basis.
But, alas, he's done it again.
Here is the back story: My mother, in her haste to get ready for a trip to the east coast, inadvertently threw her keys down the trash chute from the second floor of the building she lives in. Oh yeah, I guess I should mention that she did this accidentally, while throwing a bag of trash away...it's not that she just goes around throwing keys down trash chutes at will.
After receiving the call from my mother, I quickly informed Mr. Cruisin' of dear old mom's mishap.
We were in the middle of dinner when I revealed this information...and my husband couldn't scarf up the food fast enough.
Oh joy, rapture..."let's go dumpster diving!!!"
"Christ", I thought to myself. This man has now totally lost it. When I asked what he was talking about, he replied: "well, it's not as if I haven't done this before".
Now this was an interesting visual. Of course he defended these actions by proceeding to tell me that back in his college days, while working his way through school, there were times that he'd have to dive through the dumpster at work, when something had been accidentally thrown away.
Whew! And I thought he was going to tell me that this was part of his mysterious past in the witness protection program leading to a secret life of hiding in dumpsters.
With flashlight and ladder in tow, we made a bee-line for my mom's condo. We knocked over a few pedestrians on the way...but hey...you can't get between a man and his dumpster.
Upon our arrival, we clandestinely made our way over to the dumpster, which lies behind two big metal doors.
Up the ladder (yes, another f#*%ing ladder) and over he went...into the pile of trash.
With flashlight in hand...he began his search. I stood by as the dutiful wife, ready to puke from the stench.
Suddenly, as Mr. Cruisin was bent and hunched over, there was a strange whooshing sound.
And before you could say "Look out below"...down came a huge, full, bag of trash...
right on his head!
That was it...I was sure his neck had been lopped off, and my prince charming was becoming the headless horseman, right before my very eyes.
He jumped back, I screamed, and all he could say was "shhhhh, they'll hear you".
Oh yeah, this was a good time to be showing discretion and a sense of dignity.
God forbid the alter kockers in my mother's building find out her prince of a son-in-law was actually going through the trash.
Within seconds of Mr. C jumping back (and he did this with his lovely swollen purple ankle)...WHOOSH...down came another bag! And, I might say, with the weight and strength of an anvil that Coyote just pushed over a cliff to land on the Roadrunner.
We might as well have been Elaine and Kramer, straight out of a Seinfeld episode. I laughed so hard, well, let's just say I was no longer clean and pristine.
I spent the rest of the night screaming at him "Look out beeeeeeloooowww".
Well, look at the bright side...Luckily no one decided this would be the ideal time to dump out the cat box.
Friday, September 21, 2007
No, don't worry, this is not another Britney story.
Well, just a little over a year ago, the following happened:
For those of you who follow the writings of this mostly mundane blog, you'll remember that the amazing Mr. Cruisin' broke a toe while bravely rebuilding our patio cover for the entire summer of '06.
After a year of recovery,(don't worry, unlike his wife, he did not spend a year on his ass watching American Idol and eating icecream)he boldly decided to run some wiring in the ceiling of his office, so his air conditioner might work more efficiently.
As he readied himself to take on the ceiling, tools and ladder in hand, I of course, nagged him about not doing this himself and risking falling off the ladder.
Me: "Mr. Cruisin', you're not the young hunk you once were...perhaps you shouldn't be climbing a ladder all by yourself, you could fall and break something".
Mr. C: "Oh pu-leeeeze...I've been doing this all my life...I don't need help...it's no big deal...what could possibly go wrong?"
ding ding ding...those words are always the kiss of death.
Fast forward an hour or so...
Mr. C: "What are you...a witch?
Mr. C: Well, guess what? I was coming back down the ladder, missed the last step, twisted my ankle, and down I went. But don't worry, it's not broken. No big deal...just a bit purple".
So, what's a big-mouth wife to do? I was at a cross roads...should I be a supportive, compassionate wife, or lace into my poor, mis-steppin', old hunk of a man?
Afterall, this scene could've played out so many different ways...a broken hip; a split head; passed out. Hopefully he had clean underwear on, or any underwear on...could you imagine being found by paramedics with dirty underwear?
Luckily, the worst did not happen. A person can survive a sprained ankle...although not easy to get around when your job requires you to be on your feet all day.
But my Mr. Cruisin' never complains...he marches on (so to speak), with nary a gripe.
ME...I'd be wining, complaining, and demanding as much icecream as is humanly possible for one ailing person to eat.
And do you think my husband learned a lesson from all of this?
Of course not...he'll be back up a ladder in no time. Luckily for me...
Purple is my favorite color.