I seem to be clumsier than most. About a year ago, my daughter was getting ready to be married. One of the things I had been warned of was the inevitability of serious accidents involving the members of the wedding party. Every wedding has its disaster, whether it involves branches falling from trees at outdoor weddings, cakes going to the wrong venue. Translation: I was waiting for my accident.
10 days before the wedding, while raking, I stepped on a rusty nail. I was wearing sneakers, but this SOB went all the way through my soles and into my foot. I limped to the doctor who cleaned the wound and gave me an antibiotic, oddly happy since it meant that I would not be the person to embarrass my daughter by being The One. Mind you, I saw stars it hurt so much, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to wear my fabulous four inch heels.
The last days leading up to the wedding were as one would expect. Two days before the wedding, a bridesmaid cut open an artery in her hand while opening a cardboard box. Several stitches later, she recovered, but she marked the second accident. I’m a big believer that these things come in threes, but I’d already paid my price. The next one wouldn’t happen to me.
The night before, the wedding party met for the rehearsal dinner, which was beautiful. Everyone had a great time, the toasts were all witty, it felt like something out of a movie. My husband and I had agreed that we would skip alcoholic drinks that night so there would be no slip ups. As the party broke up and we headed for the car, my son asked if we would drive his car and his girlfriend home while the groomsmen were going on to another party. We said yes.
As I chatted with my son’s girlfriend about this and that, my hand gripped the doorframe of the car to steady myself since I rarely wore high heels. My husband was already in the driver’s seat, pressing control buttons gearing up the car, one of them to close the window the frame of which I was clutching.
As it cut off the end of my finger, in addition to the horrible pain, my mind kept saying,”No! It’s not supposed to happen that way! I already got hurt!” But the damage was done. All that was left was to get to the emergency room and find some way to make me presentable enough to attend my daughter’s wedding. The wedding went off without any more trouble and we had the time of our lives. The bride was exquisite, the groom handsome, the food was delectable, the champagne so cold you couldn’t feel what it was really doing to you.
But the injury happened to my painting hand.
To be continued…
[…] Picking up where I last left off… If you’re not caught up, I suggest you read this first: My Accidental Life […]
Cheese and freakin’ crackers. (For the gentle reader, that means “holy cr@p.”)