Wednesday, January 8, 2020
It's time for the first 2020 edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group. Happy New Year to all! Be sure to visit Alex J. Cavanaugh and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.
The New Year That Almost Wasn't
It started like a film noir: Man opens door and gingerly steps into the shower only to unwittingly slip on a sprinkling of sequestered water drops. This could lead to possible paralysis, sudden death, or an extremely embarrassing Facebook photo.
Fortunately, none of those things happened. Instead my husband morphed into Batman mode by holding on for dear life, as he slid down the shower door.
Consequently, he plummeted on his posterior while straddling the door like a scissors, thus leaving him without a cape or utility belt to cover his secret identity. In retrospect, the photo would've come in handy.
I probably would've pretended not to notice, if our friends' New Year's Eve party wasn't just moments away. This minor inconvenience caused the shower door to come off the track, so Super Hubby had to temporarily lodge it back in to take his shower.
Let this be a lesson not to put things off until the last minute. Nothing good comes from procrastination. Meanwhile, I was still putting on my makeup, and hoping the potatoes would come out of the oven in time for the party. But this was not about me.
My husband was about to reach for his towel, when he realized the shower door was stuck. So I climbed up on my tiptoes to pass it over the glass.
The more Hubby tried to move the door, the more it came off the track. Suddenly, Naked But Not Afraid was boxed in. We needed to summon Houdini from beyond, but it looked more like a job for the fire department.
The good news was that this was a pleasant distraction from my husband's shoulder and knee pain. "No one has ever suffered more than I have," he moaned over the last several days as we tipped our hats in the hallway.
My husband thought he was destined to spend the night trapped in the shower which led to the five stages of grief: 1. Denial 2. Anger 3. Bargaining 4. Depression 5. Acceptance.
The first stage began when he wrongfully accused me of not squeegeeing the shower floor properly, and I immediately went into denial mode. "I don't know how that water got there. I wiped down every last drop on the floor. This is fake news."
Not only did my husband refuse to believe anything I said, but he ignored me when I went through the other four stages of grief. After all, he was a captive audience. Finally, when I got to the Acceptance stage, and told him that I forgave him for wearing the wrong shoes to my 25th birthday dinner, I noticed the time.
Then I sprang into action by quickly reminding Hubby about the delicious barbecue skirt steaks that our wonderful New Year's Eve host promised to grill despite the frigid weather. This was just the motivation he needed to plan his getaway.
My husband summoned all his strength to gradually open the shower door inch by inch until there was barely enough room to make a narrow escape. Next, we finished getting dressed and loaded everything up in the car including a few bags of ice.
Though we were only 15 minutes late, our host was not happy and texted, "Our guests are all here and dying of thirst cause there's no ice!!!"
Despite the whole shower ordeal, we had a great time ringing in the New Year with our dear friends who even sang and played the guitar after an exquisite dinner.
When we got home I immediately checked on the shower situation and found a few more drops of water on the slippery floor. This didn't make sense, as I took extra care in squeegeeing it before we left. While I was wiping the floor again, the shower head mysteriously began to drip.
I quickly grabbed my husband to prove my innocence once and for all, but he just stared in silence. Then I rambled on about contacting the maintenance man to fix the shower door, and adding safety features like a non-slip shower floor mat and grab bars to prevent future accidents.
He nodded and muttered under his breath that he hoped I could sleep that night knowing how I almost killed my husband. Then he felt a twinge in his shoulder and a knot in his knee and started moaning again. I guess we know who 2020 is going to be all about.