So last night the drain to our utility sink got clogged.
Which would be fine if our washing machine didn't empty
into our utility sink.
So while I was watching The Mentalist
our utility sink overflowed and filled
our laundry area up like small pond.
Neither Scott or I realized this until,
he went walking into our laundry area and hydroplaned.
His feet flew out from under him,
reaming his three small toes into the wall
and landed him fully clothed in a pool of sudsy water.
All I heard was a forceful crash and a rather manly yell.
And then he presented himself, wet and quite angry,
telling me we had to bail out the laundry room....again.
And I didn't even laugh. Not one chuckle.
Not one bit of mirth escaped from my lips.
Which is nothing short of a miracle.
Since usually if someone injures himself in a humorous way,
I am on the floor laughing. Really. I know it's terrible.
I know it is awful.
I know it is mean...I just can't help it.
It's a trait that was passed down to me by my mother.
If you hurt yourself in a funny way, she can't help laughing.
She once burst out laughing as the trunk to our station wagon
slammed down on all ten of my toes
when I was helping load in an antique washstand
we had bought together.
Thank God I had tennis shoes on
or I wouldn't be able to wear a toe ring.
All this to say, it is hereditary
and though I try to hold back when
our boys injure themselves..sometimes I do snicker.
So I knew the Lord had a worked something out in me last night
when after Scott's water landing,
I was just full of empathy not laughter.
At least until this morning's recap,
when Scott showed me his 3 black and blue toes
and I couldn't stop laughing.
Then I told our 4 year old Addison what happened
and he began giggling, too.
We tried to keep it to ourselves
lest Scott be injured emotionally as well as physically.
Clearly, the laughing-at-other-people's-pain gene has been passed along.
I'm so sorry, Scott, I really am.
Apparently, God still has some work left to do in me.
And Addison, too.