I don't know if you recall the 7 Up incident a year or two ago. If not, here's a quick recap: We were having a party at my house, and I had gotten Seven-Up and Fruit Punch for the drink. The refrigerator was packed, so I balanced those bottles rather precariously on the shelf. Well, my husband opened the refrigerator, and out fell the Seven-Up bottle. The cap popped off, and there was a mighty explosion. It sprayed everything. In fact, there are still spots on the ceiling from that little incident. Anyway, my husband vowed vengeance.
Let me tell you about his paybacks. Last month, he had left his suitcases in the middle of our bedroom floor. I ended up tripping on them and whacking my foot on a chair. The result was two broken toes. Let's just say that walking the dog has not been easy! That was bushwhacking number one.
Yesterday, my husband made dinner. That was a good thing, because he's a really good cook. But he doesn't like to clean up the dishes afterwards. He saves that job for me. I commenced dishwashing operations and picked up a stainless steel lid that was resting on the stove top. Little did I know that the burner underneath was still on. Talk about some serious pain! My hand blistered up immediately. "Owww!!!!" I hollared.
My husband came running. "What happened?"
"You bushwacked me!"
Of course he was very apologetic. "Now I guess I deserve another bushwhacking."
Fast forward to the evening. I was tucking my daughter in for bed. She had to make some final adjustments on her stuffed animal collection, so I thought I would sit down on the floor in front of her bed and rest my broken body. I grabbed one of her magazines off the dresser and started looking through it. When she completed her arranging, I put the magazine back on the dresser.
"Mom, that's not how it goes!" She jumped off the front of her bed - right onto my leg. More pain!
"What the heck!" I shouted.
I can't take it anymore! They're trying to kill me over here. Somebody save me from the bushwhacking!