Mr. Embee maimed himself making me happy. He’s a good man.
The Mr. arranged for my family to come over for a birthday picnic. This was after making sure Sally provided the requisite homemade birthday card, a present I wanted, and dutifully singing happy birthday to me over cake. It was very sweet and proof that in a mere 6.5 years, you too can train your husband to remember a calendar date and plan ahead for it. I’m going to have my technique patented.
Anyway, so he planned this picnic and was making his delicious guacamole. I was packing the picnic basket when I heard the knife drop and a sharp sucking in of air. I knew right then what had happened. I looked up. Another thing about living with someone for 6.5 years: You know by mere changes in electrons around them when things are serious. I don’t remember what was said but it was enough to alarm Sally, who climbed halfway up the stairs and stayed there. That’s where she goes when things are serious, like the time she realized our library system discriminates against the illiterate or when I tell her that No, her suitcase cannot ‘live’ in the family room in the event that she needs to travel suddenly.
Whenever the Mr. released pressure from his right index finger, it bled. So like a good techie, he tells me to get online and figure out when a person needs stitches. A few minutes later it becomes clear — I’m going to need to view the wound. I’m not worried. I’m a mom. My mommy power makes me invincible — no silly scratch is going to freak me out.
Um . . . Turns out mommy power doesn’t work so well when we’re not dealing with our own children. Everyone in the house was pretty calm until Super Mom here yelled “HOLY COW, Go to the emergency room NOW! OH MY GOD! That is HORRIBLE! That will NEVER heal!”
Two stitches. It’s healing fine. But it will probably leave a scar and he’ll never forget my birthday. That’s right, patented techniques, baby.