LU-UUUUCCYYYYY...you cannot be in the show!

My tolerant husband has been calling me Lucy for years. I can't imagine why, it's not like I get myself into that many silly situations.


Sure, there have been a handful of disasters along the way, but we've been together for 13 years. There's bound to be a debacle here or there.



Take the time I was going to get rich selling gold coins. I was working full time as a consultant for Bath & Body Works. Between the constant sweet smells wafting through my sinuses each day, not to mention keeping mall hours, I desperately needed a change. A co-worker of mine revealed a secret, secret get-rich-scheme that would be sweeping the nation. Selling gold coins. It was a sure thing and frankly, it would be foolish not to invest in it. Jason laughed in my face and put the kibosh on that idea immediately. It's been held over my head for the past decade and seems to come in handy when humiliating me becomes necessary.


Moving right along to the time I fell through a wall. We'd bought our first home in 2000. It was a modest, little, starter home (read: dump). In our minds, we'd gone hog wild on fixing the place up. We were anxious for the closing date so we could get started on making it ours. We'd finally taken possession and went immediately to Lowe's to purchase gallons upon gallons of paint, trim and all the other bells and whistles it takes to give a house a quick makeover. We'd made our purchases and as we pulled up into our new driveway, as first time owners, we noticed that our new house was pink. Hmm, that's weird, I didn't notice that when we first looked at it. We also didn't notice that our new love shack needed much more than a few coats of paint. I walked through each room with new eyes. Buyers remorse, I guess you could call it. Amid all of the out dated fixtures throughout the home, I became totally fixated on a ceiling fan located in what would be the guest room. It was made of a dark, ugly wood and it had brass hardware on it. I was horrified that that monstrosity would be what my guests would have to look at before drifting off to sleep. As I stood there staring at it, I imagined that a few swipes of a paint brush should nicely fix the problem (I'd never picked up a paint brush in my life). Jason reported that he was going to go back to Lowe's for something and before my wheels began to spin, Jason said, "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING, LUCY". He had barely started his engine before I was dragging a stool into the guest room. I'd hopped up on the stool and imagined that all I had to do was dip a paint brush in white paint and voila, new fan. Within seconds, I'd lost my balance, fallen off the stool and because my main concern was spilling paint and not breaking my fall, I fell backwards into a wall. A brand new, just paid for, wall. My shoulders came crashing through the wall and right through the drywall. Of course Jason forgot his wallet and came back to retrieve it. He found me. Inside the wall. And he'll never let me live it down. What? Like you've never fallen through a wall.




What about when I had a parent educator coming to my house for her monthly visit with my son. The whole house was somewhat clean but for the dishes. I didn't have time to empty the dishwasher and then load the breakfast dishes in it. So, like any red blooded house-wife, I shoved the breakfast dishes into the oven, to be taken care of as soon as she leaves. Good plan, eh? Fast forward 8 hours, it's dinner time. I preheat the oven to 400 degrees in preparation for the lasagna I'd planned to make. Suddenly the house smelled like a chemical factory. Plastic dishes don't bode well at 400 degrees. All the kids plastic Darth Vader plates and animal shaped cutlery, melted beyond recognition. I considered keeping this little disaster to myself, but I was still trying to pry plates off of the oven rack when jason got home from work. Shut up.



Let's not ignore the time I bought Aqua Dots for all the neighborhood kids and then CNN reported that they contained GHB.


Not to take away from the time my earring back got stuck on the lining of my motorcycle helmet. Jason took me for a Sunday afternoon ride and as we were dismounting the bike, I tried pulling the helmet off when, OUCH! When I pulled one way, it about ripped my ear in half. When I pulled the opposite way, the back of the earring dug into my skull. It was a lose/lose situation. After 10 minutes of us trying to free me, a crowd began to accumulate around me. I couldn't see them because the helmet had fallen forward and was covering my eyes. Jason says to me, "ok, don't panic, but there's about 10 guys standing behind you. Laughing". Again, we were in Lowe's parking lot. What is it with us and Lowe's? Our Lowe's happens to share a parking lot with our local Fire Department. Jason offers, "want me to go ask for the Jaws of Life". At this point I'm partially laughing, but mostly crying. I didn't see any possible solution. I'd either puncture my skull with an earring or else I'd rip it. Neither sounded like much fun. Long story short, Jason finally rescued me, but not before passerbys were stopping, laughing out loud and pointing at me. So, picture me, walking through Lowe's, fire engine-red ear, mascara running down my face and worst of all, helmet-hair! We peed our pants laughing the whole way home. I said to him, "you're going to bring this up every chance you get, aren't you"? "Absolutely".



Oh. Then there was the time Jason and I were on vacation and our room had a jacuzzi tub the size of my front yard. To make up for the large space, I accommodated by pouring in half a bottle of body wash. I watched as the bubbles began to take over the bathroom. I finally turned the water off and stepped in the tub. I sat down in about 2 inches of water and 4 feet of bubbles. I felt defeated, disappointed and cold. Jason walked in, laughed at me and walked out shaking his head and mumbling something about, "Lu-uuuuucy".



And the time I was innocuously doing my hair before work one Sunday morning. I had the cord of my flat iron wrapped around itself, you know how we do. In order to untangle it, I whipped the cord this way and that until eventually the metal part of the plugger-inner hit me smack in the eye and I, in turn, gashed my cornea. At the time, I didn't realize the damage was that severe. I figured my eye would stop watering at some point and I'd be as good as new. In the meantime, I'd reached for a wash cloth inside my shower, but inadvertently grabbed a razor instead. I sliced my finger open. It was then that I'd admit defeat and call Jason for help. He came upstairs, my eye was completely stuck shut, watering like a faucet and my finger most likely needed stitches. "I leave you alone for one minute, Lu-uuuucy...", he offers. He helps me and whatnot, but I proceed to get ready for work with my winkie-one-eye and because it's watering so bad, I can't put any eye-makeup on. Do you know how ridiculous it looks to wear eye makeup on one eye, but not the other? I should have called my boss and told her I wasn't going to make it in (I 'worked' -ha-ha-at my friend's boutique) but she was attending her father's funeral that day and obviously I wasn't going to bother her over a mere cornea gashing.



If anyone reading this has ever had a 'cornea abrasion' you know that it's the most extreme & excruciating pain you could ever imagine. It's a very intense sting in the eye. The only thing that felt good, was to rub it, but by rubbing it, I was further tearing the tissue.



By the time I finally got to the ER, five hours later, they rushed me right into the room and reported it was among the worst tear they'd seen. Enter: Vicodin. Hello, friend!!!! I popped two at the ER and by the time I got home, I was drooling and asking my mother in law if she liked my pretty shirt. One thing I learned from this experience is that I'm very sweet & chatty on vicodin. Jason kept putting me to bed and I'd follow him downstairs professing my love for him. He'd walk me back upstairs..."Goooooo Niiiiight Luu-uucyyyy". Buenos noches un ojo.



I was going to include a story of mine that included hot, bikini wax, pants around my ankles and a mysterious knock at my door. But, I'm not so sure I'm comfortable disclosing such personal information about myself. Just yet. So, my better judgement (which I rarely listen to) is telling me to stop here. That is, unless Jason gets a hold of my password and logs on to tell his own versions.

MWAHHH!