Hospital lesson

So... it's after 9pm and we're in the emergency room. I had to plug in my electric bike to ride to work tomorrow. So I went into the garage to drive it to the front door and up the stairs - the charger is inside the front entry. The garage door was blocked with garbage bags, boxes, and pails. "What's that?" I asked my husband, looking at the pile. He explained it was trash. "If you'll get me the keys, I'll move the trash and drive it to the front."

Instead, he walked down the steps inside the garage to help me pull the bike into the house. I wasn't excited about driving it over the hall runner, but oh well. New steel supports to repair the pool cover were leaning up the stairs. W didn't see them and stubbed his toe on them.

Ouch - he gashed his foot to the bone and was sitting on the bathroom floor with blood oozing out when I arrived with a 4" gauze pad and masking tape from my toolbox. It was the best I could find: I know where my tools are. (W stowed the bandages five months ago when he began our master bath remodel and hasn't put things back yet.) While he taped up his foot, I got my keys, loaded the stack of junk into the trunk of the car so we can dump it tomorrow, and drove the bike around to the front, where it is charging.

Meanwhile, we are spending our evening getting W's toe stitched up. Clutter is not working for him. Or me. So much for an early night.

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