Many things in life are a pain in the butt. Including toothpicks.
Sunday after church let out, Hubby finally arrived in the foyer and we headed to the car. I opened my door and sat down. And then screamed, “Aaaaah!”
My initial cry was followed by a series of wimpers, “Ow, ow, ow!” as I tried to remove whatever it was that was poking into my behind. (It felt like a darning needle.)
It was, in actuality, a toothpick. A round, pokey-ended toothpick. And as I sat down it went through my denim skirt, slip, and undergarments and into my derriere. (This is my first time typing that word, and I want you to know that I got it right!)
My hubby’s initial worried, “What’s wrong?” was soon followed by robust laughter. Lou, the only other occupant of the car, joined in too. And although still in pain, I saw the humor and chuckled a bit myself.
Upon arriving home Hubby and Lou were quick to share my mishap with Beans and Bug. Everyone thought it hilarious. But it was a nasty little poke and still stung. Just before retreating to my room and shutting the door I said, “I bet it drew blood.”
Sure enough, it did! I asked Hubby to come put a bandage on my behind. (That’s a first.) He thought that a little Neosporin would be a good idea too.
And that’s when I lost it. Hubby had to tell me to quit shaking (from laughter) so that he could put the bandage on. (It was difficult, but I finally held my breath and did it. It was Safety Man and Accident Girl at their finest.)
I soon got over the hilarity of the situation and was surprised at how long the pain lasted. I was still a little bit sore the next morning, but I’m happy to report that I’m doing fine now.
The incident did remind us of the time Bug had a diaper rash at age two. He was a firm believer in the kiss-it-better cure and went to his dad and said, “Daddy, my bottom hurts. Kiss my bottom.”
P.S. We have no idea how the toothpick got there. Our door were locked during services, and no one had any other leads.