Those of you hoping for some sexy-time “Penthouse Letters” sort of post will be disappointed here; I’m only going to cover the first few minutes.
Our honeymoon started clichéd enough; we stepped off a Hawaiian Air flight in Maui and into a rented Chrysler Sebring convertible. Not long after, we pulled into the Sexy Dolphin (or whatever the heck our hotel was called) and checked in.
When we got into our room, we found a gift basket with a bottle of good tequila awaiting us, along with a note telling us where to pick up loaner surfboards. Surfboards! I was excited to say the least. I had been trapped in New York for four years whilst finacee became Dr. Finacee, and couldn’t wait to start surfing again. Instead of arguing about bagel quality and other east coast malarky. Oh and these amazing little shortbread cookies called “Cook Kwee’s”.
As an expression of my love and excitement, I kissed my new bride and leaped onto the bed. I felt like a kid again, wild and free and high on all that post-wedding adrenaline, and I was going to jump on the bed, by God. I jumped once. As my feet lifted off the bed, I felt the wind of a ceiling fan spinning at full speed. I think I managed to say something witty and dry like “eeeeep” right before we met.
I had enough momentum that the fan caught me twice, though the second one was a thankfully wimpy little bitch slap since the first one expended most of the fan’s energy and split my scalp open. It sounded like two quick whip cracks in my skull. I, with a dearth of style and not an ounce of swagger (which I normally have on tap) fell onto the bed, bounced once and flopped to the floor holding my head.
Brand new, freshly minted Dr. Wife did an admirable job looking concerned while wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, and even managed to gasp out “are you ok?” between fits of laughter.
I sat up. “I’m alright I think” I said. Then I felt warm blood run down my face and tasted that old familiar, salty-metallic tang (I get hurt fairly often). Ever see Carrie? That was nothing.
It’s weird how much blood comes out of your head when you cut it open. Take a sizable cut on your leg and it bleeds for a minute or two, cut yourself shaving and you’re looking at twenty minutes of bloody little scraps of toilet paper. Split your scalp with a ceiling fan, and suddenly you’re a chocolate fountain at a bad wedding, only it’s blood…not chocolate. Lots and lots of blood. Like pooling in your shoes volumes of blood.
When the bleeding wouldn’t abate, an increasingly concerned for my well-being (or the well-being of her honeymoon) Dr. Wife said grimly, “we need to get you stitched up.”
I could already hear the urgent care center guy telling me, “no surfing, no snorkeling, stay out of the pool, any fun you have will not be Hawaiian fun, unless you really like watching movies in a hotel room in Maui. Oh you could probably still go ride the old train around the pineapple plantation.” Then Doctor Wife would listen to him, and try to make me follow medical advice. I had to nip this shit in the bud.
“It’s not that bad,” I grunted as I ruined a fourth bath towel. The hotel room was starting to look like a scene from a Tarantino film. An idea hit me, “Hey, lets just run to a drug store and get some of that superglue for skin stuff.”
I sat in the car bleeding while my new bride went into a store. She took a little longer than I thought, but I guess we needed towels and sunscreen and some guava jelly, a People magazine, and a six pack anyways.
On the plus side, the glue held my scalp together and I got to go surfing and snorkeling, and had a great time.
On the minus side, I think my shrieking scared a flock of birds into early migration. So…sorry about that. Also we had to let the hotel security staff in to check on the “reports of a woman screaming like she was being stabbed with an ice pick.” I love it when they chuckle as they walk away and the only words I understand are “right brah, tourists”
If you wish to simulate the experience of using liquid bandage stuff just take a sharp knife, cut a nice wound somewhere, then pour molten lead into it. Does the fun ever stop? No, seriously if you use this product on anything other than a paper cut here’s what you’re going to need. Especially if the subject has had it applied before and is awake.
1. Four burly longshoremen, or rodeo clowns, or alligator wrestlers, or Hell’s Angels, one for each limb of the person about to be glued.
2. A thick leather strap for biting.
3. A pillow for scream muffling purposes.
4. Whiskey or tequila. For medicinal purposes. You really need to get the longshoremen half crocked before you attempt this because otherwise they will have PTSD. Also use the backup supply afterwards to comfort them. The patient could probably use a bump as well.
Some people bring back souvenirs from their honeymoons. I brought back a scar. No one in my family was even remotely surprised.
Coming next “The Road to Hana… or Carsick Capers” or “Sharks are probably afraid of me brah.”
Funniest one yet, I think I might have laughed as hard as your wife!
Not a lot of people would find a way to work in a Warren Zevon quote. But then, you’re not a lot of people.
I OMG’d about twelve times. I was right in there with Dr. Wife – which seems truly cruel on a honeymoon, hers obviously, not mine. The list is well chosen. I’m having trouble typing as the tears are blurring my vision. One of your very best!!!!!
Glad you guys all like my stories of me getting hurt. I am the literary equivalent of Wile E. Coyote some days. Thanks for reading!
This is amazing XD
Thanks you just reminded me to write the follow up.
Love your blogs