Last night I noticed another big bruise on The Viking’s ass. He shrugged it off when I asked him about it; pretended surprise that there could possibly be a bruise on his ass because he has the grace of a ballerina. I let it go at first, but then later I started thinking about it again and I got suspicious.
It’s usually me who bumps into things, whacks my head, cuts my finger etc. while The Viking looks down from his lofty, graceful pedestal and says, “Be careful” or “Don’t slip” or “Watch out for………..” or “Give me that knife because you are about to chop off your hand”. There is an entire list of things that I can’t be trusted with:
- Blow Torches
- Deep Fryers
- High Heels
- Garden Shears
- Razor Blades
- Push Up Bras
- Hedge Trimmers
- Tiny Scissors
- Paint and
- Flame Throwers
If The Viking happens to catch me with any or all of these objects he takes them away immediately and explains in depth – again – why I can’t be trusted with these items. I freely admit that I often do things while I’m thinking about other things and that sometimes the result may cause a bit of chaos. To be fair though, if I were actually thinking about what I was doing at the exact time that I was doing them I would be brilliant. And I also freely admit that there were a couple of instances when having supervision would probably have been a good idea and an accident might have been averted. However, that is mostly speculation because there is no evidence to suggest that the supervising person wouldn’t be convinced to join in. I can be convincing sometimes.
Getting back to the Bruise on The Viking’s ass though……
Bruises are a classic indication of less than perfect grace – I should know. And this is the second bruise in a month or so to appear on The Viking’s ass. It’s suspicious when the time between injuries becomes shorter. Also, the location of the bruise indicates reversing without knowing what is in the general reversing area.
Cuts, contusions, hematomas and broken bones are also significant indicators and The Viking usually has a couple at any given time. This leads me to believe that perhaps The Viking is a Klutz in Viking clothes.
The big question here is why I didn’t clue in sooner? Was this a cover-up? A deflection? Maybe he has been focusing on my gracelessness so I wouldn’t realize that he isn’t much of a Ballerina either! I feel sort of betrayed!
Maybe he’s out there in the garage tripping over shit and falling down and banging his head. All the times I’ve heard the bellowing and cussing and throwing crap around in the garage had nothing to do with the ‘Piece of Shit’ machine he’s working on at all! It’s more likely he accidentally bumped into something and a machine fell over and the tools bounced on the floor, then ricocheted off the work bench and embedded themselves in the wall behind the tire machine. That’s what he’s hollering about and he’s probably doing the “Holy Fuck That Hurts!” Dance at the same time.
Is this what he’s like out there?
He won’t admit that he’s a total Klutz unless I get him on video or in a series of still photos that capture the stages of the event as incontrovertible proof that he’s the bigger klutz. I can’t gather the evidence myself because he’s still suspicious over the whole VooDoo thing.
Oh! A Spy Camera!! I could install a camera in the garage and have it stream to my computer in the house. Wow! I’m better at deviousness than I thought I was! I should learn how to make a Blooper Reel! When I’m feeling depressed because Mr. Right-All-The-Fucking-Time was right again, I can watch the Bloopers and it will make me feel better almost immediately. I’m sure of it.
Once I have enough evidence I’ll call a general household meeting and make my presentation. I will do my victory dance, of course, because I’m a terrible winner when I’m competing with The Viking; a win happens so rarely that a massive celebration is the only appropriate reaction.
Finally getting this dirty little secret out in the open will make us a stronger couple, I think. We should be completely open and honest with each other, especially when The Viking is the utter Klutz and…..I…..am……not.