For the record, I did NOT stab Mr. Wonderful — not on purpose anyway. I am wholly innocent of those charges. I will concede that I may have allegedly CAUSED Mr. Wonderful to be stabbed with an arrow that was wielded by a Christmas tree. You can see how that could easily happen. Or perhaps not.
Stored. Mr. Wonderful has a storage area where he keeps hunting tools and other fun things. I also use this storage area for the upright storing of two generally innocuous and generally non-threatening Christmas trees. They are usually just offering joy, peace and maybe a little mischief for the cat.
Pinterest taught me to store my trees fully assembled and wrapped in industrial-strength clear plastic wrap. This is supposed to keep them clean and tidy. So I dutifully wrapped them round and round with this very clingy wrap and slid them into the closet. It was a tight fit.
Imagine me wrestling two nine-foot plastic-wrapped trees into a small space. It was a good time. I did have to wiggle them around a little bit to fit them in past his stuff. I did and didn’t think a thing about it. Christmas trees are hardly threatening, as a general rule.
Sunday morning Mr. Wonderful came running — and I do mean at quite a brisk pace — down the stairs. He all but skidded to a halt in front of me and asked, somewhat accusingly I might add, when I had moved the Christmas trees. I stared at him confused. I have never known him to be so interested in the storage of our seasonal decor before.
Then he turned around and I gasped.
Apparently, ALLEGEDLY, when I snuggled the wrapped trees further into the storage area, one of the trees bumped a crossbow he had stored. Somehow, inexplicably, a broadhead arrow, razor-sharp points and all, became lodged in clear plastic wrap around the tree. At that point, we had an armed and dangerous Christmas tree. For the record, a razor-sharp arrow will slice through even quality denim, and a derriere, like butter.
Mr. Wonderful, it seems, was in the storage closet and bent over, in the process piercing his own rear end with one very sharp broadhead arrow. Broadheads are the arrow points used for hunting. They are designed to fly accurately, penetrate deeply and cut vital organs to facilitate a quick and humane kill. They will also cut through thick denim and rear-end flesh in a split second.
Fortunately, that area of the body is a long way from the heart. He pulled the arrow out. He’s calm like that. I would have been SCREAMING. Sidenote: He also had to get a tetanus shot so this was the gift that kept on giving.
Since I married a saint, he was joking around even as I was patching up his wound. Stop laughing. It’s not funny. Okay, it’s a little funny. He made sure to tell just about EVERYONE what had happened.
He told the kids via text and BoyWonder called immediately. I’m sure he thought he had a little more time before he had to wonder if his parents were still safe living on their own. The short answer son? Probably not. Of course, that’s been true for three decades now. We are, after all, a shenanigans sort of family.
Laugh
To say his closest friends have had a field day with this would be an understatement. They are savages, so their responses range from sending him a clip of the “Shrek” movie GIF “There’s an arrow in your butt” to saying, sagely, “Do you feel safe at home, Mr. Seabolt?” He has greatly enjoyed saying “She may be trying to kill me.”
His friends have all promised to make note of this incident in case they need to testify. These jokers. “Keep your head on swivel” was their sage advice. I assured him that as an avid listener of true crime podcasts, I wouldn’t make a rookie mistake like using one of our own arrows.
I prefer to say that Cupid’s arrow was just a little too powerful — and aimed a little low.
(Kymberly Foster Seabolt is generally not dangerous. She welcomes comments in care of LifeOutLoud@Comcast.net; P.O. Box 38, Salem, OH 44460; or KymberlyFosterSeabolt.com.)
