Domestic Self-Abuse
Getting a house in order can be dangerous work. I’m not talking about blending families, or pouring a foundation on a self-built dream house. I’m talking about the simple shit, folding clothes, scrubbing tubs, putting up the dishes. You can get hurt. Or more accurately, I can get hurt.
I have a small place and I’ve watched enough DIY shit to know that if you go with a theme you can tie a small space together nicely. My theme is bland short-term stay Best Western, with a twist of urban rage. I have a sofa that was gifted to me and was nicer than I deserved at the time, but it was showing some wear and tear, or giving my girlfriend an allergic reaction, I forget which. Instead of renting the Stanley Steamer and cleaning it or buying something new, I went with a slip cover.
The problem occurred right away. Sit on couch, cover pulls away, like ill-fitting sheets or sweatpants. It drove me crazy. I liked the way the cover brightened the room, and thought it was a cheap make-over until the cover followed me to the kitchen as I got up, like a wedgie from Bed Bath and Beyond. I was pissed.
In a fit of rage, as my girlfriend and I were heading out to enjoy Labor Day at the beach, I started stuffing the elastic waistband of the cover back into the couch. As I pushed and tucked I hit something like the spine of the couch, pulled my hand out and my finger looked broken at the first knuckle, or like I was hanging from a ledge by my fuck you finger. We re-routed from the beach to an urgent-care clinic. No hot-dog and beer for my labor day, well I had beer later, but you know what I’m saying.
Seven days later I am trying to leave the house in a rush, and trying to make my bed in haste, I don’t remove the pillows and jam my other hand against a taught comforter and do the same thing to a finger on the other hand. Fuck, right? I call my girl who thinks I’m joking and head to the same urgent-care.
I tore the mallet tendon on my right middle and left ring fingers a week apart. Trying to exlpain to people what I did to myself was more painful than the injuries, why do annoying people ask you the questions you don’t want to answer? To those of you who thought it was a cycling accident, now you know (Yo, Slick, blow). Stop asking me fucking questions and be careful out there.
Oh, and a quick safety tip, use a wood spoon to tuck in the slip cover, or buy a better one.
