On the last day of our honeymoon Sweet Babou and I flew to Dublin to stay once again with Jen, Paddy, and their two gorgeous children, giving them the dubious privilege of driving us to the airport at the crack of freaking dawn the next morning for the return flight to the states. Aren’t they lucky, to have such quality moochers as their friends?
Anyway, we were all spending a relaxing evening eating India takeaway and watching Tim Minchin with no worries when Sweet Babou decides to end out trip on a “bang”. Or a “thump”, really. Yes, my dearest husband scared the life outta me by falling down the stairs.
I don’t know why it scared me so bad. It was only down the last half of the stairs and he was bouncing on his arse not his head. Nevertheless, the whomp-whomp sound of your husband hitting every step with his butt cheeks makes one’s heart quail.
It turned out that Sweet Babou had not taken into account that his socks had a low coefficient of friction on carpet, and one of his feet went zipping out from under him like a hare. That foot first lodged itself in the bannister, and then struck the wall behind my husband’s head when he yanked it out. How? Well, in the process of yanking he lost his balance and went down and under as his now-free foot went up and over.
The impact with the wall broke his next-to-the-pinkie-toe toe, which discombobulated him so thoroughly that all he could do after that was ass-ski down the remaining stairs sideways. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he LEPT to his feet and stalked stiff-legged into the kitchen faster than the speed of light, leaving me gawping at the bottom of the stairs still trying to process what had just happened. Jen leaned over the balcony and assumed that I had been the one taking the tumble.
Have you ever seen a cat act like it 1) had not fallen off a couch arm and 2) if it HAD fallen off the couch arm then it had totally meant to do that? That is precisely what Sweet Babou did, right down to the abruptly casual super-fast saunter away form the scene of the fall.
Thus, when I had ascertained that Sweet Babou was uninjured (except for cracked toe) and had the leisure to remember what he had looked like as he sashayed into the kitchen … I got a royal fit of the giggles. It was the fact his ass was clenched as he stalked away that did me in, I think. The more I thought about it, the funnier his walk of I-did-not-fall became. I woke myself up laughing at least twice that night. Hell, I’m snorting while I’m writing this down.
Meanwhile, my cold turned out to be strep-throat and I was a sickly mess on the plane trip back as well. Broken and feverish, we hobbled to our car and drove home to our daughters, whom we had missed a ludicrous amount. Still, we treasure every memory of those 10 days.
It was a good honeymoon.
More from living