Angie is Trying to Kill Me

Angie fell off a bridge.

That is not a common statement to make. In fact, this is the first time I have ever said it. If you received a phone call telling you a random person fell off a bridge you would say:

“Oh No!!! Are they alright? How could that happen? “

But when you include Angie in that statement people are not as shocked. Especially if you know Angie well. Not to say people would not be concerned about her well-being, she is well loved by all who meet her. They would just know that somehow there is a story attached that should be interesting.

Angie is a shortened form of the name Angela. Angie says that it is rooted in the word “Angelic” as in being an angel. I, however, have done deep research into the name and found that the word Angela was actually from the Latin phrase “engelicus toastacus” which means total destruction, chaos, mayhem and disaster.

My life has been in danger ever since I met her. Oh, it started off innocently enough, but now that I have survived to look back on life I can clearly see her nefarious plans.

It started with our first kiss. It was at the Del Mar Fair in 1975 in Southern California. We were sitting in a dark part of the bleachers at the rodeo rink. You can tell when a kiss is eminent. The conversation dies down, eyes meet and lock, heads start to tilt and the lip lock is on.

I should state here, that unbeknownst to me, this was Angie’s first kiss from a boy that was not related to her. Not that she was from Arkansas or Kentucky or anything like that. She just told me after we were married that she would practice kissing with her younger cousin behind the barn at her grandparent’s farm in Oregon.

To understand Angie’s style of kissing is simple. Think back to how you kissed your grandmother. Lips were firmly puckered like the south end of a north bound chicken. I feel bad for her cousin. I don’t think he ever married.

My style of kissing was learned from my oldest brother’s multiple girlfriends. (In this day and age, the word “skank” would apply here). They had heard from my brother that I had never kissed a girl at my ripe old age of 15. They took it upon themselves to teach me how to make out. I was a willing but quite confused participant. I learned that if you want to kiss someone, you open your mouth as wide as possible and consume the other person’s face. I got quite good at it, in my opinion, but I could not quite achieve the “mouth tasting like an ashtray” part.

When her chicken butt pucker style met with my cover your face with my mouth style she literally screamed INTO my mouth. I rest my case about the Latin meaning of her name. Looking back, I now realize she was trying to give me a heart attack.

Recently we sold our SUV we had for 16 years. Before the people who wanted to buy it showed up, Angie decided she needed to give the interior a good cleaning or the new buyers would likely return with the police after discovering all the things lodged into the cracks, cubbies and crevasses of that car. Well, yes, some of it was blood but I was pretty sure there were no random body parts. She used a steak knife to clean out all the cracks at the front passenger seat and got distracted and left the knife pointing up from the space between the seat and the console. I discovered this fact when I sat in the passenger seat to go with the buyer on a test drive. Thankfully I was wearing my pants with the Kelvar pocket linings otherwise there could have been a tragic “ruining of the sale” accident. Now some would say stabbing someone in the butt would not be an attempt on one’s life. You forget that Angie is involved here. I’m sure she was trying to stab me in the brain, she just gets confused at times.

Angie is quite prone to clumsiness. I am constantly requested to repair the items that were dropped, stepped on, sat on, run over, crushed, fall out of the cupboard and fragile items that were used as a ladder. Last week I fixed an intricate procyclin candle holder only to have it broken into many irreparable pieces the next day.

As Angie describes it: “I have troubles”.

We were once stopping by at neighbor’s home for a quick visit and after I knocked on the door we stepped back so the screen door could be opened. Angie was 7 month’s pregnant with Tristan and wearing high heels. As she stepped back she suddenly began slowly sinking backwards as her heels slowly sank into the freshly watered lawn. After she ended up flat on her back on the wet lawn she asked me why I didn’t try to catch her. I honestly told her that I didn’t know. I had just never seen a person fall over that slowly. This was obviously another attempt at a heart attack.

Back to the bridge.

We are currently camping with two other couples in the Sierra Nevada Mountains at the Pi Pi Campground. Ok, knock off the sophomoric humor, it is pronounced “Pie Pie” but I must confess that when I first saw the name I thought it was named after a 4-year-old boys favorite anatomical discovery.

Our camp sites are separated by a small creek of ice cold snow melt water. Many years ago, a tree fell across this creek and someone cut the top of the log flat and made it a foot bridge. We had crossed this “bridge” many times but on this occasion, it was dark as it had gotten late. I asked Angie if she wanted to go first and I would light up the bridge for her with my flashlight. She said no, she wanted me to go first and carry the dishes we had to take back to our camp. She held the flashlight as I crossed and then proceeded to come over. Have I ever mentioned Angie “has troubles”? One of them is poor night vision. As she started across she stepped on an off-level section of the log, screamed, went to her knees and in slow motion rolled off the bridge into the ice-cold creek 6’ down. Fortunately, she did not hit any of the large rocks in the creek. Everyone ran over to make sure she was alright and fortunately she only suffered minor scrapes and bruises. I again refer to the Latin meaning of her name.

Now that we are a couple days past the tragic occurrence I realized that her true intentions were for me to slip on the bridge at the un-even part with my hands full and no way to stop my fall onto the waiting rocks of death.

Did I mention I also sleep with my eyes open?

“The Bridge of Death”                    Angie is having wine to steady her nerves. Or is she trying to entice me back on the bridge………..

 

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