Not Ready for Prime Time Crime - A Melodramatic Story about Attempted "wifeocide"

Not Ready for Prime-Time Crime

A Melodramatic Story about Attempted “Wifeocide”

My husband doesn’t mean to be a murderer.

He doesn’t look like a murderer.

I think he simply forgets to examine his plans for possible consequences.

Nonetheless, my life has been in peril three times at the hands of my hubby.

The first attempt on my life was made on my 50^th birthday.

We planned a party for my big 5-0. While getting ready for the party, we noticed we needed a few more lawn chairs out of the garage for our guests. So, my husband asked for my help in getting them down from the upper shelves.

He placed me directly underneath the garage shelf, next to his ladder, so he could (allegedly) hand me the lawn chairs as he took them down from the shelf.

Unfortunately, he had “forgotten” there was a 2” x 12” board on top of the extra lawn chairs. Quite naturally, the 2” x 12” board fell off as he pulled down the chairs.

WHACK! Right on the top of my head.

I ran from the detached garage, across the cement, to the attached garage and into the house for ice and bandages.

 I ventured back outside.

Just as I was about to begin questioning my husband, the family arrived.

They tend to arrive from all over in one big bunch – all 27 of them. including their respective children.

I told my family that “the husband” had tried to kill me.

 They accused me of being overly dramatic (why would they say that?).

They liked “the husband” and assured me that he just didn’t look like a murderer (see, I told you he didn’t).

 Suddenly, my brother, Andy, the cop, noticed the blood drops on the cement leading from the attached garage to the detached.

Like a good cop, he followed the trail of blood to the 2” x 12” board lying on the garage floor with blood on it.

He picked up the board. “Oh, my goodness,” my brother (the cop) replied as he looked at my husband.

Immediately and magically, my entire family appeared at the scene of the crime.

Well, when push comes to shove, blood is thicker than marriage. Or so I thought

 Almost simultaneously, 27 pairs of arms were crossed, and 27 pairs of eyes glared at my husband. The children stopped running and playing.

There was total silence.

The husband in question, went pale.

I believe my brother (the cop), feared a mob lynching. Andy, being a trained enforcer of the law, mentally reached into his cop collection of “defusing a potentially dangerous situation” toolbox and pulled out an old but useful line.

“So, what was your plan? “Andy inquired of “the husband” as he held up the bloody 2” x 12” board. “Were you planning to get two 25-year-olds to take her place?” “HA HA HA HA” he added

27 pairs of eyes shifted to my brother (the cop). 27 brains went through a similar process; should they believe their ‘frequently overly dramatic’ family member or trust the cop?

They decided to trust the cop. Slowly, 27 relatives joined in as 27 pairs of arms began to uncross “ha……ha……ha…..HA HA HA.” And the children began to run and play again.

Everyone was relieved.

Not me!

 I decided to stay on guard, and it was a good thing that I did because….

The second attempt on my life came about 8 months later.

It involved a golf cart

Neither one of us golfs

Our home was built on a Ravine.

“The husband” went into the ravine to collect wood for the fireplace with a golf cart.

He would go down into the ravine via a golf cart. He built a bridge that connected both sides of the ravine.

One spring, he started using the golf cart while the ground was still mushy. On the way up the hill that led to the bridge that connected the two sides of the ravine, the cart got stuck in the mud. Somehow, he managed to get it unstuck.

Since that worked out so well, he decided to start the following spring when the ground was still even more mushy. He and the golf cart got up the hill just fine. Unfortunately, as the golf cart was starting to go over the bridge, a front wheel slid, and the cart ended up partially slipping off the edge of the ravine. It hung there by only one of the two wheels in the front, with the back wheels in that same slippery concoction. Larry went to our neighbor’s house and borrowed his tractor that was now attached to the golf cart with a rope.

While he was out playing in the mud, I was inside working in my office. My dear hubby called me and asked me to come outside to help him with something.

When I saw the golf cart hanging part way into the ravine I laughed and commented that it reminded me of my car teetering over the ravine. (That is another story.)

 Since I got a dirty look, I figured that I better not say what I was planning to say next.

He told me that his plan was to get the golf cart back up and onto the bridge. He also told me what my part would be in that plan.

I was assigned to get in the golf cart and steer it while he pulled it off the ravine with the tractor.

I quickly stated, “I am not getting in that golf cart!” “The minute you start to pull it, it’s going to slip and go down into the ravine with me in it, or the rope will stop it with a jerk, and I will go flying out! NO, NO, and NO!”

 “You are such a wussie,” Yup that’s what he said and then sweetly added, “Just get in the cart.”

“Call the golf cart guy.” I walked back into the house, snuck up to my office and peeked out the window, curious as to how this would play out without my help.

When the golf cart guy arrived, I went back outside just as Larry was explaining to him what he wanted him to do.

The golf cart guy’s eyes got that “deer in the headlights” look and he said, “I am not getting in that golf cart!” “The minute you start to pull it, it’s going to slip and go down into the ravine with me in it, or the rope will stop it with a jerk, and I will go flying out! NO, NO, and NO!”

Sound familiar?

Apparently, the golf cart guy was a wussie too.

The golf cart guy jumped into his car and left. I only hoped that he had seen me giving him the thumbs up as he drove away.

I have no idea how Larry ultimately got that cart over that bridge. All I know is that no humans were harmed in the process that day.

Thanks to me and the golf cart guy.

Now, the next time…