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Pain in the Hoof

He Said

We owned one of those little cheap metal floor lamps that comes in three pieces that screw together. We had it for several years until we finally gave it to my brother. A year after that, the lamp reappeared in our living room and sat in the corner, unplugged and unused. Several more months passed, and I asked my wife if we could get rid of the lamp. She agreed that it needed to go, but said she wanted to donate it to a secondhand store. I agreed, but for some reason the lamp remained in the living room. I again asked her to remove the lamp several weeks later. She said she had forgotten and that she was running to the donation center in the next few days. Another month passed and that stupid lamp was still there. This time I just picked it up to haul it out to the dumpster. My wife pleaded for one more chance because she really wanted to donate it. (By the way, the lamp’s value could nott have exceeded $5.) I reluctantly agreed, but noticed several days later that the lamp was gone. Victory!

A month later, my mother-in-law was visiting, and one day she challenged me to a game of Boggle (my wife was gone at a meeting). I went to the front closet to get the game. As I stepped in, I stubbed my toe on something. It didn’t hurt, but it instantly went numb. I looked down at my big toe and noticed that it was split in half, but there was no blood. I showed my mother-in-law and asked her what she made of it. We played with the toe for a second, and suddenly blood poured out. I hobbled upstairs to fetch bandaids and she, being a nurse, proceeded to make a homemade butterfly tourniquet thing. With the bleeding under control, I went to the closet to find out what I had hurt my toe on. I uncovered several objects on the floor of the closet–including some Play-Doh materials, a pile of blankets, tools, and a grill–before I found the culprit. I couldn’t believe my eyes: that floor lamp was broken down into 3 pieces and lay on the floor, exposing its sharp metal edges. I related the story of this lamp to my mother-in-law and told her that her daughter was now in trouble. When my wife got home, she had to bring me to the insta-care facility to receive several stitches. It hurt so bad as they peeled the toe in half to shove a needle with anesthetics inside. Once I calmed, I confronted my wife and asked her why she did this. She got defensive had the nerve to tell me that it wasn’t her fault! What do you think?

She Said

It is true that we owned the lamp, then gave it to his brother. When he had no more use for it, he returned it to us, and we subsequently decided to get rid of it. I would feel too guilty throwing a perfectly useful item away, which is why I insisted on donating it. I usually have a box in the house where I let our used-but-still-usable items collect until I am ready to haul them to the donation center. When my husband would threaten to take the lamp out to the dumpster I would plead my case, thinking, “oh good, I have that box of stuff upstairs anyway, so keeping this lamp will help me remember to take it all in soon.” Since the lamp was too big for my donation box, and since it wasn’t really in the way, I was happy to leave it in the corner of the living room. It didn’t look out of place at all (which is probably why I kept forgetting to take it out of the house). I finally took it out of its corner one day when I bought a plant for that spot. I didn’t have anywhere to put the lamp, so I quickly took it apart and set it onto the closet floor. This closet locks, and is one of the few areas of our home that the kids can’t get into, so I often use it to temporarily stow things away from their grabby little hands. I’m sure I’m not the only one who put things on that closet floor, and it was no secret that the floor was covered in junk. I think The Donkey should have been more careful where he was stepping.

Noteworthy:

• While my mom was out visiting she offered to help me clean out the closet. I kept postponing our project, but when The Donkey got hurt, my mom proceeded to clean the entire closet before I even got home. I think a few stitches were a small price to pay for an expertly organized closet.
• The Donkey mentions that after getting stitches, and after he calmed down, he asked me why I did what I did. As I recall, when I walked in the door after my meeting, I was met with wide, twinkling eyes, and the exclamation: “You’re in big trouble!”
• The Donkey mentions that his treatment was quite painful. Fortunately, I knew exactly what kind of care and attention he would appreciate, since he’s had the opportunity to model this behavior while at my side during various hospital stays (3 specific visits come to mind). Let’s just say it’s good we had a Blackberry device available with games for me to play.

What do you think? Who was most at fault?
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