Telling Tales on Yourself

Lately, I've had some really crazy things happen to me and I've never been shy about telling on myself. So here they are...

The other day I was in a hurry to get to my writing group's meeting and pressed the garage button in passing as I walked between the back of my car and the garage door. As the door lifted, a small piece of metal hooked into my sleeve. You can imagine as the door continued to rise and I struggled with the hung material, trying to keep it from tearing my new blouse, I realized the only way to save it was to let it go. Yep. You guessed it. There I stood in my bra and jeans staring at my dangling fuchsia blouse overhead. One thought that flashed through my brain was, at least I'm wearing my prettiest bra. Pretty bra or not, I quickly ran to the side in case my seventy-plus neighbor was sitting in his sun room getting an eyeful and I hit the button for the door to come down. Needless to say, I repaired the metal piece so it won't catch me again and I've been too embarrassed to ask my neighbor if he saw something interesting lately.

The next craziness was a couple nights ago. I was in the bathroom and noticed a bug on the floor. I grabbed the broom and mushed it enough to scoop it in the dustpan and then dumped it in the commode, flushing that sucker down the pipes. Well, after washing up and brushing my teeth, I noticed the water in the toilet was still running. So I jiggled the lever. Nothing. The chain inside the tank had come off. So there was nothing else to do but fix it as my husband was already asleep in bed. No way would I wake him for that. I lifted the top, looking inside and couldn't see the chain. Knowing the chain probably had gotten caught beneath the valve, with dread I stuck my hand inside. Yes, I know the water is clean there, but yuck! I found the chain and pulled up, but when I did, my hand hit the big tube next to the valve, causing a small tube to pop up and water started spraying everywhere. I dropped the chain and then grabbed for the tube, missing it and knocking it completely off. That means the water spraying changed from a straw size stream to a full-steam-ahead type spray that shot up to the ceiling. The pressure was so strong it peeled off the texture of my ceiling down to the drywall. Water was flowing down my walls, soaking my hair and pajamas, and my curtains as a river churned on my tile.

Thankfully I had enough sense to turn off the water beneath the toilet. Goodness, it was a mess. I put towels on the floor and dryed off the walls, and then blow dried by hair. After drying off the window and a framed picture, I gave up and went to bed.

The next morning, my husband goes into the bathroom and comes out to wake me. "What the hell happened in there?" Without opening my eyes, I tell him, "I had a problem with a bug."