That is to say, thank you so much for the support. I swear, I really wasn't trying to get you all to give me compliments--at all. I really just wanted you to know that I felt badly about neglecting you when you've given so much to me. And that I'd give up writing if that's what it took to make it possible to give back. But, seeing as how there is an "arse whooping" in store for me if I continue with that plan (Mr. K loves that phrase, by the way, and wants me to stop blogging just to see someone do it), I'm thinking perhaps I need to consider other methods of dealing with the situation. But you guys are so very dear to want me to stay. As far as I know, I just sort of babble along and you are kind enough to be nice about it...thanks so much for telling me different. (Self-esteem issues? Me? Nah.)
But, on to the interesting stuff. Specifically, this:
I have been viciously assaulted by a rogue pumpkin.
No, really. See, it all started.....well, to tell the truth, it probably started a few years ago when I broached the idea of carving pumpkins at Halloween and a delighted Mr. K encouraged me with great enthusiasm. I had visions of some Hallmark card moment where the two of us lovingly gazed at one another and carved his and hers pumpkins...or something like that. I admit, the details were a little fuzzy, seeing as how most romantic scenarios I've ever seen do not include huge knives and piles of goo. But it was a moot point, anyway. Turns out that Mr. K, a scientist who has handled all manner of disgusting-ness, who slays hooved spiders without turning a hair, and who actually rolled around under the porch in the mud getting the hot tub all wired......has a problem with pumpkin guts. Seriously. He can stick his bare hand into a clogged toilet without a moment's thought, but the inside of a vegetable--ew.
I'm not sure what led to this issue, but I'll try to remember when I see Judy next to ask her if he was by chance attacked by a gourd or something as a small child. Which is not as farfetched as I thought before this weekend, as you'll come to see. Anyway, the upshot is that I am in charge of the Halloween decorating each year, a task I quite enjoy until the moment when I cut right when I meant to cut left and end up with a strangely picasso-esque pumpkin and a new assortment of profanity. (Of COURSE it's meant to have three eyes that's what makes it scary and who asked you anyway?)
This year, I got inspired by a picture online and decided to make a large pumpkin eating a smaller one. I know, I'm a sick unit. The idea seemed to me to call for a very large BIG pumpkin, and a very small tiny pumpkin--because without the disparity in size, the whole thing would just look weird. (Yeah, because cannabalism among hollowed out vegetables with candles in them is usually so very normal.) So I went to Albertson's and picked out the biggest pumpkin I could find, along with some of the little miniature pumpkins. Perfect. The monster pumpkin, as it turned out, weighed in around 29.5 pounds (70 some kilos).
Now, in my defense, let me say that I know this is not exactly herculean. I exercise every day and I lift weights and I'm not THAT big of a wuss. But pumpkins differ from weights in many ways, one of them being that they are round and smooth, and another being a conspicious lack of a handle. Okay, yes, there's a stem--but if you've never found yourself standing in the driveway surrounded by pumpkin chunks with juice and seeds all over your socks while speaking in loud, anglo-saxon prose, then you've obviously never tried to carry a pumpkin by the stem. You are fortunate, indeed (or smarter than I am, which amounts to much the same thing at times).
The bottom line is that I carried the pumpkin into the house by bending over it and wrapping my arms around it and waddling like a pregnant hunchback until my back screamed for mercy and then stopped speaking to me in anything but loud, pissed-off words. Note that this did not stop me from bending over for another two hours to carve the pumpkin....which may seem foolish to you but look at it this way: it did cause me an injury, but I got even. I cut it open and pulled its guts out. And took great pleasure in doing so, too. Here, the results--first the back-mangler pumpkin by itself in the daylight....
And then the whole scenario later at night with candles and the addition of a horrified onlooker pumpkin:
Note the carnage of chopped up mini-pumpkins scattered on the steps. As I said, I am a seriously sick unit--and being pumpkin-assaulted did nothing to put a lid on that particular problem.
Okay, I'm going to hobble back downstairs to my hot water bottle. But I do love you guys. And thank you for liking what I write. I love doing it, too...but like my creative writing teacher once said: writing can be a little like wetting yourself in a dark suit: it gives you a nice warm feeling, but people don't necessarily notice anything. Thanks for noticing. Seriously.