Once upon a few shots of Jameson, in a black hole far away (Grafenwoehr), the shots were plentiful, the conversation ample, the flirting aggressive, the stars shining and aligning and two fine people, The Hick and The Mick, met over pizza. Granted, they were surrounded by about 6 other international pals, but regardless, there they met.
The Hick. We’ll call him Tennessee, as “The Hick” doesn’t really do him justice. Don’t get me wrong–he’s a hick alright. He drives a big truck, his drawl is thick and charming, his smile is boyish, chaotic curls peek out from under his (of course) Tennessee camo hat, and he probably owns stock in Single Barrel Jack.
The Mick. We’ll call her Darling Dublin, though no doubt she’s a Mick, but I’ve only known her for 30 days so I’m at a loss for a better nickname that doesn’t end up horrifying her or her associates. (you’re welcome) The Darling has gorgeous blues, soft, caramel, straight hair that swings when she step dances, which she does when red cheeked and fiesty. She wears cowboy boots with skirts, drinks Jameson like water and has her very own pant dropping accent, which come to think of it is perhaps why I have a story to tell.
So one chilly evening I make the very unlike me decision to stay in with Moxie alone to watch made for TV movies, eat popcorn and cry about planning a wedding from abroad (I was just having a moment, no worries). I tell all international friends that I will not be joining the festivities, drink half a bottle of nyquil (was sick, not addicted to cough medicine) and fall asleep spooning Moxie by 10pm. Am in heaven thinking I have a full night’s rest and will perhaps be refreshed and rejuved by sunrise.
I look at the clock. It’s 2:15am. Why is the phone ringing off the hook? And why is Tennessee calling me? He knows I’m not coming out and considering the normal time to come home ranges between 2-4am, I’m sure they’re all still out. I hit silence. It rings again. And again and finally, on the third phone call, I pick up.
“Hey, sorry to wake you up or bother you but I think I might need you to get up and bring me to the hospital.”
Oh dear god, what has happened, I ask. I’m freaking out. And then he not only reassured me, but tells me the best story in about two lines.
“Oh, no worries, I’m fine. I think I need some stitches because I split open my knee and it won’t stop bleeding.”
“How did you split open your knee? Good god, are you ok?”
“Oh, just some accident. We were just hanging around and I ripped open my leg on the ironing board.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say ironing board?”
“Yeah, don’t ask. But since you’re up now anyway, feel like walking over and taking a look?” Of course I wanted a goddamned look. He just said something about an ironing board and hanging around and blood and injuries. I wanted a look. And I wanted to know what their version of hanging around was because mine never ends up with me stabbing myself in the leg with an upsidedown ironing board.
Moxie and I walked down the street and found Tennessee and The Darling sitting on the sidewalk, laughing to themselves and admiring Tennessee’s impressive gash, which really was bleeding everywhere. I was fine with viewing this interesting situation until Tennessee pulled open the gash without warning to show me how deep it was. I wanted to throw up. Unneccessary.
I wasn’t so much concerned with his wellbeing anymore as I was this story. “Ironing boards are smooth, not sharp. I’m going to need you to explain further.”
“Not the top of the ironing board, the bottom. Like the bottom of the leg. Where that rubber foot part should be, but I guess it wasn’t there and part of my knee is now in it.”
“What the fuck was the ironing board doing upsidedown?” This was a great story and poor Darling. She looked somewhat sheepish. I’d be proud of such a story. In retrospect, I wish I had high-fived her. Probably too soon in our friendship but I appreciate good work and that is some really great work.
“Oh we were just watching tv and doing this and that and there was some moving of the furniture involved and”
I had to interrupt. “Holy shit, YOU WERE DOING WHAT? hahaha. MOVING FURNITURE? At 2am?”
Moving furniture AND hanging around with a side of this and that? Wow. I’m so impressed.
“Yeah, don’t be jealous,” he says and I think he kinda means it. Ha. I love Tennessee.
“I’m going to need you to draw me a diagram.”
I’m still waiting for said diagram, BY THE WAY.