T’was evening, and I was gainfully employed in the upstairs office (Mahjong Matching Pairs actually.) I heard the dulcet tones of Mrs Goodwife, as she called me to be about her business.
I headed off downstairs with the lights out – carbon footprint, global warming, etc. – and anyway I know my own house don’t-cha-know?
Fully confident in my nocturnal wanderings, and striding out manfully to do my loved one’s bidding, I turned right for the stairs and walked into the bathroom door. (It has truly always been there, just to the right and just before the top of the stairs.)
View of unlit Bathroom door
Bathroom Door (lit)
“Ow!” was my watchword. (At this point you must understand that it is only when I am quiet that Mrs de Moi becomes overly concerned. Noise is the norm, apparently, where I am concerned.)
I duly removed myself from the doorframe and continued to help save the planet by walking down the stairs and, still in the dark, missed the last two steps.
Wife’s concern was immediate. “Oh! No!...Mercy me!...Oh Pete!...just look…You’ve gone and dripped blood on the carpet!”
First Aid was the order of the day. A piece of kitchen roll was thrust into my hand to stop further damage to the floor covering, and time was well spent clearing up the damage. (There is something in modern medical emergency thinking called the “Golden Hour” – treat a victim in the first hour and there is a much greater survival rate.)
Eventually, I was inspected at close quarters. “That could be a stitch or two” said my resident nurse. “It’s the Accident and Emergency Department for you my boy.”
I could not contain my excitement as I anticipated stitches in the head, as well as my new found street cred with difficult young men I meet in educational establishments. I had to call my daughter on the way to share my news. She just asked to speak to her mum and said she was sorry for her. (Is it just me, or are women really wired up differently to men?)
Well, to cut a long story short, the next four hours were spoken for so to speak. I was smacked on the hand at regular intervals and scolded for trying to make the cut more dramatic by poking at it. I was a ‘Non-urgent’ case, would not be stitched, merely glued and, as Mrs Wife pointed out it had cost us £4:00 for travel and parking, and £2:00 for snacks (did I mention the carbon footprint involved in the journey and in keeping a whole hospital on standby for my visit?)
Cost of lighting the landing and stairs for two minutes – 0.16p; cost of putting things right £6:00. You do the maths (or “math” if you happen to be one of our North American cousins.)
Of course, explaining the facial damage was not easy. I carried a note for some days in order to keep my story straight.
Saving the planet, huh?
Next morning I read a nice bit of a book called Isaiah. God gets to talk in it some. He says that my thoughts are below His level, and my actions seem to keep in step with my thoughts.
The aim seems good, it’s just worth doing that old ‘think before you jump’ routine.
Much love
Pete
