Midnight Ballet at Jacquie's Asylum

You know how you sometimes warn someone of possible danger they may not be aware of? Well, this is how that example played out one night at my house recently.



Kenny had pulled a muscle in his back that had left him in absolute agony. He could barely move at all and wore a facial grimace of pain, for ten solid days.


Though he can be highly dramatic when he is sick, (phoning me from the bedroom to bring him treats or to find the missing remote control that is ruining his life, at that moment, though it is only three inches from his hand) this guy is a workaholic maniac. He revels at being 'able' to work through an entire weekend, even when he has the same thousand degree temperature and flu, that has me curled under a blanket drinking gallons of Neo-Citron.


Anyway, when he came home from work this last time, he was in genuine misery. A visit to the chiropractor left him infinitely worse and he suspected the doc may have actually been trying to kill him.


I had been cleaning carpets that day and had the grandbabies toys dragged out into the hallway, to make room for the steam cleaner. I warned Ken to be super careful if he got up at night, because the piles of toys were lining the hallways until the carpet dried. The toys wound down the hallway right outside our bedroom door and around the corner toward the kitchen.


About 20 minutes after we had gone to bed, I got up to head for the bathroom.


Yes.......yes......all of you who know me, have already guessed what came next.


I hit the first of the maiming-trap of a toy gantlet and started falling, ricocheting from toy, to wall, to toy. to floor, to toy, all the way around the corner finally landing, with a tremendous thud, by the kitchen door. As soon as my, slightly less than graceful dance began, I also, apparently, had started screaming.


Kenny, who had just fallen asleep after I had given him sufficient pain killers to knock out a horse, was startled into a panicked wakefulness by my midnight performance. He tried to jump out of bed ( Yelling all the while, "What the F---? What the hell's going on?" What the F--- are you doing?")


He got tangled in the sheets and fell out of the bed, flat on his face, onto the hardwood floor.
By the time he exploded through the bedroom door like a caterwauling wounded beast, I was literally hysterical, laughing until I couldn't speak, lying sprawled amongst the toys. I was bruised but not hurt.


Of course, Kens crashing to the floor from the bed, did not help either his sore back or his sense of humour. He looked at me with incredulous horror, as though I had choreographed this late night ballet with the sole purpose of annoying him. When I say 'ballet', I more correctly, of course, refer to the steps, movements and grace of a hippopotamus in full seizure.


Anyway, for the rest of that night, I kept waking poor Ken up, with my sudden fits of uncontrolled laughter, shaking the bed as I tried to stay quiet. I guess if there is a moral to this story it might be to practice what you preach, or more realistically...don't booby trap your hallway before you turn out the lights.