Under Attack

 Under Attack

It was late. Time for my shower. I went into the bathroom, leaned into the shower stall and turned on the water so it would be nice and hot when I was ready. 

Thunk! A slab of wood from atop the shower door came down on my head as I reached for the faucet. The wood was about eighteen inches long. The end was as big around as a Denny’s pancake. I was shocked and let out a little yelp as the wood clattered to the floor. 

Thank you FreePik for the image.

Haltingly, I made my way to the doorway leading to the living room to report my injury to Mike. I’m not sure he heard me. The television was on. However, he could see the distress on my face. 

“What is it?” he asked as he came to meet me.

“I’m alright,” I assured him. “Didn’t you hear the clatter?”

“No.”

I told him what happened and you’re not going to believe this, but the man laughed. I’m serious. He laughed. 

Still in shock, I followed him back to the couch. I was hoping for a little TLC. A little babying. But no. Even as I related the entire incident to him, he laughed. Out loud. To my face. 

Fortunately, my injury was something I could overcome. At least the physical one. The emotional toll was huge. 

I returned to the scene of the incident. I picked up the wooden thing from the shower floor to show Mike. It wasn’t all that heavy. Wood flying at you doesn’t have to be heavy to hurt. 

“This is what thunked me in the head,” I told Mike.

Did I get sympathy? No. In fact, when I returned with the projectile, Mike laughed harder.

I ask you, is this the way to treat the woman you love?

Well, the truth is, by this time I was laughing, too.

I’m planning a little “addition” to the shower. A hook should work. In the meantime…don’t they make a lightweight, plastic back brush?

Brush or Weapon?
You decide.