Injury and Lawsuit!

       It was a dark and stormy morning, but the dog needed to go out. So I stumbled out of bed, pulled on some jeans that had intentionally been left crumpled on the floor nearby, and cried out in pain as I felt my thigh being cut.  

       Now, I am not one to cry out, ordinarily. I can stub my toe, or burn my hand on the oven, without making a peep. But this morning, I was too sleepy, or perhaps too shocked, to hold back. 

       I reached into my jeans pocket to see what had stabbed me. A pin maybe? What I pulled out instead was a single tablet of Advil Cold medicine, in one of those small, hard "blister packs". 

       Then I remembered. Last night, while leaving the kitchen, I had looked back to take a quick look around, exactly like Martha had advised, to look for anything that "isn't where it should be." Seeing the lone tablet on the kitchen island, I had pocketed it before heading to bed. Looking down at my thigh this morning, I saw a long, angry line where it had scraped into my flesh. 

       Tom, normally not one for empathy (perhaps that's why I ordinarily don't bother to yell?) got out of bed to see what the problem was. "Jesus CHRIST!" he bellowed, when he saw my thigh.  By this time, blood was beginning to seep out of the full length of the slash. "That must be eight inches long!" he yelled. I showed him the tiny pack of Advil Cold medicine. "LAWSUIT!" he screamed.

       At this, the dog, who by now had been startled four times over, began jumping up and down. We knew this meant either that she agreed with Tom's demand for justice, or that she had to pee really, really soon. So Tom said he would take her out, while I cleaned and dressed my bloody thigh.

       With the two of them gone, I considered doing some shredding, but instead contemplated my lawsuit. Maybe if I sued Martha, we could come to an amicable out-of-court settlement, whereby she would autograph the front of my Homekeeping Handbook, let Olympia play with her dogs, and maybe offer some personal instruction on cake-decorating?

       In preparation for filing my complaint with the court, I re-read the advice that had led directly to my massive, gaping wound and the horrific pain and suffering I was now experiencing.

       "Take a quick look around for anything that isn't where it should be. Pick it up and put it where it belongs." Put it where it belongs? You mean Martha doesn't say to look around for anything that isn't where it should be and then put it in the pocket of your jeans? 

       Had Martha's highly-paid attorneys already got to the book and cleverly re-edited it? I mean, if I had known the pill was supposed to go back into the box from whence it came, surely I would have done that. I will put into evidence my long record of flawless housekeeping to show my pattern of direct obedience to Martha.

       Or maybe I'll just go downstairs and start the coffee. At least Tom is out in the rain with Olympia, instead of me.