Tap. Tap. Tap.
Where is that coming from?
Then again, a faint scratch and one knock. On the door? I think? It was faint, but persistent. I went to look through the stained glass windows of our front doors and saw…nothing?
Opened the door and lying there ghostly pale and covered in a thin film of sweat, was my Hubby.
“Honey, I cut my foot, I’m going to pass out”. Was what he muttered. Oh crap. have you ever seen that episode of Fraser when Niles Crane cuts his finger while ironing?
Yeah, could be my big man. Every single time he gets a glimpse of his own blood he needs to lie down. Fast.
Turns out Klutzy Hubby came home from a golf tourney all proud of himself for winning a great big trophy, and a great big bottle of Grey Goose Vodka. As he stepped out of his man car he simultaneously dropped that giant bottle of Grey Goose and stepped on the giant shards of glass is created. Ouch! Through the shoe and into his foot. I was greeted at the door by a white faced man and a giant pool of rapidly expanding blood. First aid Mama kicked in. Stopped the blood and got the pale clammy man inside. Once he was squared away I went outside to gather up the boy’s trophy and clean up the glass.
My eyes could not quite comprehend what I was seeing! I imagine this is what a crime scene would look like. Blood drops from the car door to the house. Drag marks from where my poor man had nearly passed out and crawled the last two feet, and then a ridiculously large pool of blood outside our front door. No wonder the man felt faint.
Here’s a question this Mama has never had to deal with before. How on earth does a woman clean up a mess like this one? I couldn’t just leave it! If the kids saw it they would be traumatized, and if the neighbours saw it they would think someone in the house had been killed!
I got out my sexy and reliable rubber gloves, some sponges, a plastic bag, bleach and Lysol. Probably not the best chemical combination as the odours did leave me a bit light headed. After an honest hour of scrubbing you could just barely make out the suburban crime scene. I only gagged a couple of times.
Gotta tell you, this definitely got me thinking. If a cut on the bottom of a mans foot could make this big a mess on a side walk, how do the bad guys do it? Why aren’t more of them caught?
This thing I know for sure, I could never be an axe murderer.