This story is in no way funny at all to me, but I can recognize that to everyone else in the world, it will be hysterical. So while I am icing my head and waiting for the swelling to decrease, I will share with you a chuckle at my expense.
I was sitting at my laptop about thirty minutes ago, reading the news before heading to bed. Suddenly, I heard Aisha cry plaintively twice, and scurry off into the bathroom. I went to see what the problem was, and discovered her crouched behind the toilet, clearly hiding. When I went to pull her out, she kept trying to back away. Sitting three feet away on the bathroom tile was a little puddle, left by a visibly remorseful and terrified puppy.
This broke my heart. I know I should have been glad that she obviously knew she’d made a mistake, but the fact that she managed to at least pee on the tile and not the carpet, and the fact that she was clearly really sorry and really scared made me feel like a gigantic, evil ogre.
So I picked her up, carried her outside, and praised her effusively for tinkling and pooping outside, and then carried her back upstairs. I then went to clean up her mess.
Now, you should know that when Paul and I fill up the main trashcan in the kitchen, I empty all of the other wastebaskets into that one big bag, tie it off, and set it outside the front door to take to the apartment trash compactor the next day. However, for the one (or five) days that the big bag is outside our door, I try to put any especially unsavory trash immediately outside so as to avoid unnecessarily soiling the new bag in the kitchen. Naturally, the used paper towels from Aisha’s puddle tonight fell into that category.
When I opened the front door to drop the dirty towels in the trash bag, Aisha and Kobe both tried to bolt outside. I spun around and stood up as quickly as possible, smashing my forehead squarely into the edge of the door. Pain exploded through my head, and I dropped like a fifty pound sack of corn off the back of a Guatemalan school bus.
Like I do in all other stressful situations, I immediately started crying. When that failed to alleviate the throbbing pain and ugly swelling, I got a bag of ice and awakened a groggy Paul, who retrieved the washcloth I requested to wrap around the ice, and then instantly stumbled back to bed. Part of me wanted to drop dead from my horrific head wound right then and there to teach him not to abandon his wife when she is crying, but I figured that would be one of those “cutting off your nose to spite your face” situations.
Laugh it up, jerks. It hurts like a bitch and looks like a golf ball.