Thursday, April 17, 2014

When everyday objects attack: beware the Easter bunny

Just so you know, I'm not kidding about the Easter bunny.

Seriously, I’ve had my problems with ordinary objects in the past couple of years.  From time to time, it’s like things around me become possessed.  

For example, there was the toe I injured by dropping my hairbrush on it.  Spectacular bruises too. Or that morning I wrecked my rotator cuff airing out the duvet.  I don’t want to forget when I sprained my ankle doing the dishes. That’s right. 

Last summer my chair – without warning – flipped backwards off the deck, depositing me (still in the chair) on my back in a freshly dug garden bed.  Usually I’m alone in the garden. This time there were five witnesses. 

Not too long ago, I banged up my knee crashing into a seemingly innocent pile of books at the foot of a staircase. Just so you know, a baby gate was also involved. 

And I haven’t even mentioned the drink coaster.

Try getting sympathy for a duvet injury. Or a hairbrush trauma. Or a coaster incision.   I can’t even use them in my fiction because fiction has to make sense. 

But then yesterday’s incident takes the cake. Well, takes the candy.  While trimming the ears of an Easter bunny – they were way too long, trust me – I broke a tooth. Yes, really.  The bunny was made of milk chocolate, soft enough to snap.  What’s the world coming to when you can’t trust the Easter bunny?

At any rate, while everyone else is getting ready for Easter egg hunts and a long weekend, I’ll be sitting in the dentist’s chair hoping my checkbook doesn’t catch fire when I get the bill.  Around here, stranger things have happened. 

Maybe I should have stopped sooner?

 Now I don't trust any of this Easter bunny stuff. I mean, don't these little guys look like they're hatching a plot?

I hope you all have a lovely few days ahead with chocolate and bonnets and all your teeth right where they should be. May the sun shine on all of you and not in a dangerous way.

But why don’t you make me feel better?  Tell me your stories: do you get attacked by ordinary objects too?  How much sympathy do you get? I promise to understand!