Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Axe wound to the head, or, The two-martini Sunday

It was the wasp's fault. I was driving, about one mile from my house when I noticed a wasp in my car. This was not one of those blundering, garden-friendly wasps that generally mind their own business. This was a scary hornet-type wasp; large, with aggressive yellow stripes. It was flying straight toward me and all I could think of was an accident that happened here in Charlottesville, about ten years ago, in which a driver freaked out over an insect and lost control of her car and crashed into another car and killed its occupants. I didn't want to lose control of my car and kill anybody, but I also did not want to get stung and there was no safe place where I could pull over. The wasp settled on the lower part of the dashboard, about one inch from my knee. This was terrifying, but the wasp seemed preoccupied with something on the dash, so I kept driving, holding myself tense, sweat literally soaking my shirt, and I got home safely.

Jon tried to kill the wasp, but it disappeared while he was looking for a suitable wasp-killing implement, so we opened all the car doors, and the tailgate and searched and that's when Jon found the axe. "Oh, I forgot about this," he said. It was his dad's axe, and we'd brought it home from Buffalo two years ago. The axe has a bright yellow handle (for safety), so how did we manage to overlook it for two years? We'd wrapped it in a green plaid blanket (for safety), tucked it under the far back seat of the minivan and forgotten it.

Jon slung the axe over his shoulder, Paul Bunyan-like, and told me to come look at an issue he discovered with our shrubbery. I, the Goodwife Crabstick, obediently followed him, unaware that I was nearly to become a modern day Anne Boleyn. The shrubbery problem is tricky and I was thinking very hard about it and crouching down to pull up some weeds and I stood up just as Jon was turning to toss some cans into the recycling bin and my head smacked straight into the business end of the axe. It hurt a lot. It hurt as much as or more than a wasp sting. Here's a picture of the wound, which is superficial, but caused pain far out of proportion to its benign appearance.

My nerves were already shaken from the encounter with the wasp, so it was pretty bad luck to get chopped in the head with an axe not ten minutes later. Perhaps it's suitable to quote Ma Ingalls (via Shakespeare) and say, "All's well that ends well."

Actually, it ended with martinis at Bang!, where we went for dinner with friends. I had two martinis, which is one and three quarters more than I need to become impaired, and later, at the music venue "Is" (all the cool restaurants in C'ville have one-syllable names) I drank some of Jon's Pabst Blue Ribbon while we watched a concert by the excellent group The Duhks who are from Winnipeg and put on a great show. I got rejected for a job and axed in the head all in the same week. I deserved my two martinis.

Addendum: The great thing about getting axed in the head is that you can write a fabulous status update for your facebook page, which I did, and got several witty comments. The prize for the wittiest comment goes to my sister-in-law Danielle, who wrote, "You're going to be okay. Next time just correct the perpetrator. Tell them it's 'ASK.'" I was wounded by a literal axe, not a verbal one, but thanks to her, any time I hear someone say "axe" when they mean "ask" I am going to consider myself axe-wounded.


  1. Holy cow! You take the cake for the craziest weekend ever--a axe wound followed by 2 martinis--brave woman you!

  2. Oh man. The wasp thing is my worst nightmare. Actually, now the axe thing is going to be my worst nightmare.

    I hope this week takes a more pleasant turn.

  3. You could have called this post
    "Axe me what happened this weekend!"