Misadventures

Have you heard the story about how I drank rotten milk for a week straight because "it smelled funny and someone needed to drink it before it went bad"?  No?  You should ask Dane about it.  It's one of his favorites.

Sometimes I feel like Dane and I have an abnormal number of crazy/stupid incidents in our lives.  I'd like to dismiss that thought.  It's fairly melodramatic.  But then I get in conversations with other people, and I can tell from their widening eyes that our definitions of "normal" are calibrated very differently.  All I can figure is that Dane and I are like Paddington:  Things are always happening to us.  We're that kind of bear. 

That's all a preamble to telling you that I shut my nose in a sliding glass door this week.  We have two big sliding doors on the main floor of the house, and I've always been a little worried that one of the boys would get his fingers or a limb caught in them.  But, when a body part was finally smashed, it was my face.  Not my whole head, of course, just my beaky nose.  There was a slight crunching sound when it happened, but no blood or obvious disfigurement.  I didn't go to the doctor.  We had plenty of Advil and Cyrano de Bergerac jokes at home.

Dane -- the man who once had three stitches in his forehead due to an incident involving a microwave and a cheese sandwich -- was delighted.  "Who," he wanted to know, "has EVER shut their nose in a sliding glass door?  Have you seen yourself in profile, Hanna?"

Perhaps I can be forgiven for feeling a little vindicated later in the day when Dane bent over to shovel snow off the deck and the seat of his pants split wide open.  To his credit, he refrained from telling me that the pants ripped because they came too close to my beak.

Dane's tribulations weren't over for the week.  But, for the rest of the story, you'll have to talk to Dane's co-workers, who are sure to be having a laugh at his expense for a long time.  I won't tempt karma or fate or chaos by telling you that he locked himself in a basement server room at a prison.  After all, it's almost certainly my turn next.