Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

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Thursday, January 29, 2015

Coffin Crimes

Husby getting into character for 'Arsenic and Old Lace'.
Husby has a scar on his chin.
A long scar from a large wound.
A wound that took several stitches to close.
And I gave it to him.
Well, me and a coffin.
You’re right. Maybe I should explain . . .
Husby and I have, for more years than I care to count, been involved in the theatre scene.
Writing, directing, producing, acting, building, equipping, costuming, makeup-ing.
An almost endless round of ‘ing’.
For one of those productions, Husby had constructed a coffin.
Okay, we can’t for the life of us remember which production – one of the hundreds – but it was built for the sole purpose of looking coffin-ish onstage.
After the production, it ended up residing (along with thousands of other props and set pieces), in the large storage space belonging to our theatre group. A space that needed to be periodically reshuffled to make room for more and newer.
Ugh.
At this particular point in time, the coffin, which until then had had a special spot on the floor, was going up on top of a cabinet.
Okay, I said this was a storage room, I never said anything about safety standards.
Back to my story . . .
Husby and I were, as per usual, the shufflers. We had shifted and sorted and made room. Cleared a path to facilitate.
Hefted the coffin.
And started in.
And that’s where the whole scenario came crashing down.
Literally.
Husby, on the front end, tripped.
Me, on the back end, didn’t super-humanly grab the coffin and heft it into the air and out of damaging range.
Thus, with our forward momentum, exacerbated (Ooh! Good word!) by bulky coffin, Husby went to his knees.
And plowed headfirst into a wooden chair.
A chair that had been in the kitchen of several plays.
The bedroom of several more.
And at least ten living rooms.
A sturdy chair; built to last. I probably don’t have to tell you which - when wood met chin - lasted.
When I finally pulled the coffin off my man, he was holding a hand to his face.
And blood was dripping through his fingers.
Don’t you hate it when that happens?
After I had exclaimed and swabbed, we examined.
“I think it’s all right,” Husby said. But as he spoke, I watched the split in his lower lip puff and blow with each word.
Ewwww.
A hospital and stitchery were indicated. I drove him there and he received prompt medical attention.
And a sexy scar.
Which he gladly shows to anyone even remotely interested. While he graces them with lurid tales of his wife’s ongoing abuse.
Sigh.
P.S. Don’t ask about the scar up on his cheek from - and I swear this is true - a ‘friendly’ little game of football.

20 comments:

  1. An abused husband.....I wouldn't have thought it of you Diane.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This hobby? I did not expect. Oh, I'd love to see you both in theatre!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We're just starting into the next. A cute little musical called My Emperor's New Clothes. There's a seat for you in the audience!

      Delete
  3. Doctor, do you have anything to stop this coffin???

    Anonymous Coffin-Scarred-But-Forgiving Husby-Punster-Figure

    ReplyDelete
  4. I'm laughing and shuddering at the same time!

    (And it's not all because of that unforgiveable pun, either :))

    Did anyone ever tape any of your plays? Or will we have to be content with photos like the one above?!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hmmm . . . good thought. We have a few on tape. Never thought about actually - you know - WATCHING any of them. :)

      Delete
    2. Okay, while it may have been more fun for you guys to do a play rather than watch yourselves having done a play, it would be infinitely more fun for us to watch you do a play than NOT watch you do a play ... still with me? good!

      Or must we beg? We can do that ...

      Delete
  5. We have to keep them in line one way or the other!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Totally! Slinging coffins is as good a way as any . . .

      Delete
  6. Oh, I totally get your husband's need to milk his scar for all it's worth. Any time I get annoyed with my husband and he seems about to win the argument, I can trump him with the accusation, "Oh yeah? Well, you poked me in the stomach and made a BRUISE!" Which is true, but was done in fun, not anger. Still, a bruise is a bruise. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Shocking. Scandalous. Scary. Shameful. Sickening. And that's all the 'S' words I can think of right now.

      Delete
  7. Sigh. The things we do to our husbands. Accidentally of course. My mum, the untutored, unlicensed driver, once ran over my dad's feet. In reverse. Luckily he was wearing his work boots.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yikes! Now there's a story that wants telling . . .

      Delete
  8. I'm a bit klutzy, and may or may not have caused a little damage to my husband once or twice! I would love to see one of your productions!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. May or may not . . . I like this. Will use it in future. :)
      There's a seat for you in the audience for our next one. Mid-April. Bring friends . . .

      Delete
  9. You and your husband have so many talents! Perhaps pall bearing is not one of them, however :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah. I think we should cross that one off the list...

      Delete

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