Busted My Ass

Busted it good.

Precious Poodles--

Do you ever have days when you think you're going backward in life, not forward? Days when your bumps and scrapes are just the ones you had when you were a kid? Well, your ol' Sweet Tea's havin' one of those days herself.

So there I was. I'd decided to try my hand at a re-upholstery project (more on that in a later post). The thing about re-upholstery is that first you have to de-upholster whatever it is that you're going to re-upholster. In my case, that's these here ottomans:

Nast. Try not to focus on how hiddy these things are; they'll get better. If my re-upholstery project turns out to be a bust, I'll just burn them and invite y'all over to roast marshmallows over the flames.

Anyway, taking these things apart is no small task. You have to use a chisel to get in there and remove about a gazillion staples (kind of like when I re-did my little sewing chair). And those staples are in there good, folks, which means that there's the occasional slip of the hand, followed by curse words and bleeding. 

War wounds. Taken the morning after the battle. Waaaaaaaaaahhhh!

Anyway, my hand was killing me. I decided I'd done enough and called it a night. When I woke up the next morning, my hand was throbbing. The inside of my hand was bruised from gripping the chisel so tightly.

Just as you're rolling your eyes reading this, Lucille did the exact same thing. She cut me a hard side-eye.

She told me to suck it up, get out of bed, and let her out for her morning call of doody.

Well. Apparently, it iced here in Street Lewie last night, because when I let Goose out to run down the outside stairs into the backyard, just as she turned her head back over her shoulder and said, "Make sure you have my breakfast ready before I come back in," her little feet slid right out from under her and she tumbled down the icy stairs:

Shit! I didn't even realize ice was in the forecast! I poured warm water over the stairs to melt the ice and then headed out to the garage to get my ice-melter stuff. Note to self: when there's ice on the stairs, there's also likely ice on bricks. And...here's my backyard, folks...guess what happened:

Funny enough, you can see the container of ice-melter right there in the window of my garage. So close, yet so far away.

Try not to be distracted by the sexiness of my sweatpants; focus on my pride- life-threatening injuries here, people. And that little scrape is now swollen and bruised, so...sympathy, please. 

And that's just my wrist--you should see my ass! 

*You're thinking to yourself: Dat ass should've provided plenty of padding. She's fine. Well, kids, bricks are hard. I'm NOT okay, and your sympathy is appreciated.*

Anyway, I've got the bumps and scrapes of childhood all over again. Don't let this happen to you. Let's be careful out there.