Not Today, SANTA!

Christmas Eve was not the same this year. My sister the ex-mayor's wife didn't have her annual finger-food dinner party. Oh, she had the foods, and her daughter's family over. But the rest of us didn't go. Sis called to ask my opinion the week before. I told her I'd just as soon not sit in a closed-up house breathing other people's breath. We agreed that this event might be best put off for a while. Don't you worry about Val accidentally losing a pound, going without that tasty food! Sis is bringing me some on Christmas Day (TODAY!).

Anyhoo... I was preparing part of our own Christmas Day feast on Christmas Eve. Hick loaded up A-Cad to deliver gifts to Sis, HOS (Hick's Oldest Son), and The Veteran (Hick's second son). In his Hickish way, he FORGOT the main gift for HOS's youngest boy, a mere toddler. Hick had put it in his truck. So he came home, bringing some treats and the gifts from Sis. Then he left with the toddler present, a big dump truck full of blocks.

Since I was two hours into making deviled eggs, I asked Hick if he wanted to pick up something quick for supper. I still had all 7 layers of the 7-Layer Salad to prepare. I had no plans on cooking a meal tonight. The Pony wanted Burger King. Hick seemed less than enthusiastic. You can tell, when he gets all frowny, and says to tell him what we want, right after we've just told him what we want. Then he gets exasperated, throws up his hands, and says, "I don't know what you want!"

The Pony texted it to him. But Hick sent a text saying he'd bring home Captain D's fish if that's what we wanted. Which had not even been discussed, but I didn't care, as long as I wasn't cooking. So The Pony sent back our selections.

I had finished deviling the eggs, and was cutting the cheese (heh, heh, that's for a certain blog reader's 13-year-old self) to grate for the 7-Layer Salad, when I heard Juno dash out of her house and go crazy barking. She sometimes does that when Copper Jack the neighbor dog walks up on our porch for a drink from the water bowl. Then I heard our Jack, and the Copper fellow, baying as well.

Hmm... maybe Hick was home with the food? It had been almost two hours since he left. Captain D's is way over in Bill-Paying Town, 20 miles away. So the timing was right, after his second Christmas delivery to HOS's house.

I waited. Diced the boiled egg layer. Started on the little green onion layer. Maybe someone had delivered a package. That sets off the dogs. But they'd quieted. Maybe I should send The Pony out to look. The mail ran today. Could it be my in-transit package? Nah. The dogs were probably just going nuts playfighting with each other.

Another five minutes went by. I heard the kitchen doorknob. I looked up from the table, and there was Hick. He had three Captain D's bags on his wrist, and was holding his hand to his head. As he rounded the counter and set them on the cutting block, I could see blood on his left index finger. Quite a bit. Just then, he said,

"I fell down in the driveway."

"Oh, no! You've cut your finger! It's bleeding! Are you okay?"

"That blood is not from my finger. It's from my nose!"

The Pony trotted into the kitchen to survey the damage, and act as Florence Nightingale so I could keep my oniony hands to myself. I swear, The Pony is going to break something, letting all this empathy out lately.

It wasn't blood from a bloody nose. It was blood from a CUT. Across the bridge of Hick's nose, and in a furrow on his forehead.

"I got out of the truck, and went around by The Pony's car, to set up the light-up Santa that the wind had blown over. I was walking back to my truck, and got my feet caught on the gravel. Sometimes my feet don't work like they should. I fell down in the gravel, right on my face! I've got a scratch on my glasses. I'll have to get a new lens. I have holes in my knees from the rocks. My shoulder hurts. I guess from trying to catch myself. I think my hat might have helped my face not get smashed too bad."

"You are going to have a bruised face tomorrow, Dad. Your nose already looks purple. I'll put a bandaid on your head for you, if I can find the right size."

"Put pressure on it! To stop the bleeding."

"I'm going to use the liquid bandage I have in the cabinet."

So now I feel a little bit sorry for Hick. Who lost a fight with SANTA. I guess it could have been worse. Hick said he was almost to SilverRedO, and could have crashed his face onto the bumper. Or he could have been electrocuted by Santa, in a Final Destination kind of way. Brace yourself! Here comes a picture of the damage:

 

The forehead laceration is sealed up pretty good with the glue (or liquid bandaid). Or maybe the frowny-face holds it closed! The nose looks a little bit crooked! Hick did not think he wanted to strap on his breather for the night. As I type this, he might be snoozing in his recliner instead.

 

I really wish I'd sent The Pony out when I first heard the dogs. He might have changed the whole course of events. Maybe set up the Santa himself. Or helped carry in the bags. Or just distracted Hick enough that his feet remembered to work.

I feel kind of bad. I need to listen to those hunches! As soon as the had dogs quieted, and there was no Hick, I wondered what might happen if Hick fell in the driveway and couldn't get up. The wind was really cold every time he'd opened the kitchen door carrying in the stuff from Sis. I was just seconds away from having The Pony look out from the front porch, for a package or what the dogs might have seen. Sometimes, I'm NOT being overly dramatic with imaginary worst-case scenarios...