I have not seen this movie. There is something about the cover of this DVD that just makes my skin crawl. It used to be in the display facing the front door of our local Hollywood Video store. Gross. I would always skip past that section.
- This? Nuthin. You should see my hubby’s fingers
Anyway, this last Saturday, my hubby, Matt, was puttering in the garage. He’s a regular Tim-The-Toolman-Taylor. Every now and again, he’ll smash his thumb with a hammer and curse a blue streak, but that’s about it.
Little did I know, his luck was about to run out. Notice how I’m clueing you in on the terror to come? In the writing business, we call that “foreshadowing”. Cool, huh? (Insert scary horror film music here). So, anyway, I was inside, pretending to write, but really napping (shhh), when our daughter comes screaming into our bedroom, “DAD’S HURT HIMSELF! COME QUICK!”
I don’t remember getting out of bed. I think I levitated to my feet, hit the floor once and was downstairs before I’d opened my eyes. I’d just completed a course in CPR/First Aid and thought I was all Greg House. Nope. Couldn’t remember a dang thing. Two chest compressions and 30 breaths? uh… that can’t be right… Stumbled out to the driveway and found my husband staring dazedly at his hand. Blood everywhere. The tip of his finger still in the garage I guess.
I shout at the kids to get my purse and my shoes. My daughter, still screaming, throws her father’s giant clown slippers at me. Other daughters gather towels and begin to boil water. The sons are bawling. The husband wanders back into the garage to…uh, who knows. Look for his finger? I’m in the car gunning the engine, yelling at him to get in or get left behind. Once I’m strapped in, I’m either Starsky or Hutch, whichever one took the corners on two wheels. My husband asks, “Hey, are you all right?” Okay, shouldn’t that be my line? I should have paid more attention to the “comforting the victim” portion of my CPR training. Shouting “Shut up and let ME do the driving!” is hardly compassionate.
You know, I had no idea that while I’d been sleeping, my hair and make up had become so…attractive. Couple this with the clown slippers? Yeah. I go screaming into the ER, “MY HUSBAND HAS CUT HIS FINGER OFF!” They had the nerve to look bored. Apparently, they see oh-so-attractive middle-aged clown people like myself dragging some bone-head like my husband in every single day. In fact, you out there, reading this? Odds are, you’re missing a digit. I am shocked at how many people have come to me with missing finger stories. I go to church with one lady who has THREE people in her immediate family, who are missing one or more fingers. Hello? Like maybe they ought to think about being, oh, I don’t know…CAREFUL?
Anyway, I’m not impressed with this movie poster any more. Really, it’s nothing but a bad manicure. I’ve seen worse. Oh, yeah. A lot worse.