• M. Mabie

Fireside Friday: I cut my butt off.

I'm not crazy, I know it's Monday, but life happened and I didn't get this out Friday like I'd planned. So maybe this will brighten your Monday instead. Pretend it's Friday though, okay? hehehe


FAIR WARNING: This story is extra, out there, and beyond TMI. (But let's be honest here, aren't all the best stories?)


Welcome back to Fireside Friday with y'gurl...me...Mo. Last week, I got all emo and barfed feel-goods out into the interweb, this week is gonna be a lot more—um, I'll call it—intimate. But isn't that what life's all about? Balance. Last week's awww will totally be this week's OMG! Like I said: balance.


(Remember pretend.) So get your s'mores, your favorite Friday evening beverage, and pull up a seat on the wood bench beside me and my best guy, Danny and listen to the harrowing tale of the One Time I Almost Cut My Butt Off at Danny's Grandma's House.


The year was nineteen-two thousand-and-three-ish. Danny and I were staying a month or so at his Grandmother's house while we looked for a new apartment. Back then, Danny's outrageously cool Grandma Gretchen—who is a legend—dated this urban cowboy named Bud. That weekend, Gretchen and Bud stayed at his "homestead" in the sticks on the other side of the Mississippi River.


To get to the point: Danny and I were alone!


It was Saturday morning, and we were doing what silly twenty-somethings do, conserving water, and sharing a friendly, hot shower. I'm not sure if you and your significant other play like we do, but for context, Danny and I—when left to our own devices—can and often will behave like juvenile delinquents. That's who we are and just how this relationship works for us. Don't judge.


So we were all lathered up. Real nice and soapy. And I cupped my hands and blew a bubble. Quickly, this became a competition. Who could blow the biggest bubble? Whose bubble lasted the longest? How many bubbles could we collect, placing them on each other’s soapy bodies?


Spoiler: Danny wasn't great at this bubbly business. He's a drummer and has these weird, misshapen pinkies. And let's not deep dive into how calloused and banged up his poor hands get. Needless to say, he didn't stand a chance.


But knowing what I did about bubbles sticking to anything super soapy AND to be a good sport since he wasn’t doing so well AND to turn up the heat *wink wink*, I got down on my knees and started blowing him a really clutch pair of decorative bubble balls.


*chef's kiss* They were magnificent.


Oh, the laughing. Oh, the joyful tears. Oh, we were having one of those times that couples typically keep to themselves but kind of wish they could tell everyone about because it was just soooooo fun. (If you haven't guessed this about me though, I don't give a rat's ass about my pride. I'll gladly throw myself on a story sword, if it's worth it. I have no shame.)


Where was I? Ah, yes. Hilarious, side-splitting, beautiful bubble balls. Everything was right in the world.


Except.

Then.

I.

Stood.

Up.

AND OMG.


Blinding pain. I mean, I saw spots. My mouth watered from the onslaught of instant nausea. My ears rang, and my balance went to shit. I almost passed out.


Danny, being the helpful and always concerned bathmate that he is, immediately knew something was wrong.


"Mo. What happened?" He braced me by the arms.


I couldn't speak at the moment. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't even tell where the pain was coming from exactly. I only knew it was behind me, and it was not subsiding.


"Did you stand up too quickly? You’re dizzy? You were just laughing your ass off."


The word ass made me cringe. That's what it was—where it was—my ass. And by how it felt, it may have very well been completely off.


Danny looked down at our bright red feet. "Oh my God! You're bleeding." We were standing in a pool of fun bubbles and my blood. "What did you do?" Snapping into action, he turned the water off, which was pelting my wound, and he yanked the shower curtain open. "Turn around."


Best I could, trying not to faint or let my knees buckle, I faced the wall so he could get a look. My stomach rolled seeing all the carnage. It truly looked like a crime scene.


"You scalped your ass."


Apparently, when I stood up after our testicle fun, it was entirely too close to the faucet and it sheared a 4 inch section off my right ass cheek. Just wide open.


Over my shoulder, I peeked in the mirror behind us. From the waist down, I was crimson.


He quickly grabbed a towel and pressed it to my backside, applying the pressure needed to stop the bleeding.


"Do I need to go to the hospital?" I asked my naked, squatting boyfriend (at the time) behind me who busy was inspecting my bare butt.


"I don't know. It's bleeding pretty bad, but it doesn't look like they'd be able to sew anything. It's just gone." He pulled the towel away to get another look at it. "Here, get out and bend over the toilet lid and just stay right there."


Honestly, getting off my feet didn’t sound like a bad idea. My legs were weak and my head was spinning as if I'd been on a Tilt-a-Whirl. He helped me out, wiping off my legs and feet as I did what he suggested.


Then he left the room. I thought, "Maybe he's getting a first-aid kit? Maybe he's calling an ambulance? Maybe he's going for help? (hahahaha I know this all sounds so dramatic, but at the time it was hella dramatic hahahahaha Looking back now, it's just funny and ridiculous.)


Then, he popped his head into the bathroom, and by the looks of it, he had a plan.


"I'm going to Wal-Mart," he stated confidently.


"Wal-Mart!?" That seemed like the last thing I needed him to do.


"Just don't move. I'll be right back."


I didn't worry about him being gone too long, Gretchen's house was less than a two minute trip. But those ten, maybe fifteen, minutes alone felt like a year. A year, bent over a toilet lid, bare-ass naked, in agony, and missing half of my butt. And trust this, I don't have a lot of butt to spare. I needed all I had!


Danny didn't forsake me though. He’d gone out for supplies and returned a full-on doctor with some macho, big dick energy. Danny Mabie: Ass Repair Man Extraordinaire was back to save the day. My hiney hero. My badonkadonk-fixin hunk. My Dan the Fanny Man. (I could go on and on. It's been ample time since for me to acquire roughly 9,571.5 puns to use with this story.)


Moving on.


I trusted him. He wouldn't do me dirty. He was trying to help. He loved me.


Folks, he might as well have poured battery acid all over my scalped white ass. The stars returned to my vision. My heart thundered in my chest. And my scream was B-rated slasher flick worthy.


"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?"


"New Skin Liquid Bandage," he explained. "It should seal it up and make it stop bleeding."


That may have been true, but it was torture. Regardless, he waited for it to dry and then bandaged my butt up and got me all taken care of.


Then he laughed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. "I swear, you're the only person I know who could get hurt playing with bubbles." He had a point. I was and still am prone to situations like this.


A few minutes later, all cleaned up and dressed, I went to rinse out the tub and guys... GUYS!... Guess what I found. Guess! You know I found half my damn ass hanging out of that faucet. *gags* I had to call for Danny, and to this day, I don't know what he did with it. *gags*

It healed up just fine, but damn it hurt for about a week. It was gross. I still have a long scar parallel to my butt crack. And if you were hoping for a moral to this story, I owe you an apology. Wait. Maybe there is one. Albeit, basic. It’ssome lovely and insigtful analogy about scars making you who you are, and if anything they give you a stupid story to tell later. In which case, my butt scar has provided me with hours and hours of entertainment at parties and bonfires over the years.


Maybe it gave you a chuckle too on this Monday.


I hope you had a great week and that the next is even better. If you had a shit week, well at least you didn't lose half of half your butt in a freak shower bubble accident with your boyfriend.


Later this week, I'll tell a doozy—a favorite among my author friends—about the time I met Kristen Ashley. *blushing already*


And, ICYM last weeks story, here's a link. Click HERE.


See you all again Friday.

Love, Mo



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