Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Ow! (01/07/10)
- TITLE: "Daddy Has An Owie!"
By Susan Gurney
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--Now there was that time I had a work order from apartment management to enter Apartment #23B to work on a Mrs. Ritter’s refrigerator. The refrigerator was freezing everything, including her lettuce and eggs…so according to the office, I had permission to enter the apartment on that particular day at that particular time. The tenant would be at work. No one would be at home. I knocked at the door and then let myself in using the pass key. I walked straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and got to work. What I needed to do would be easier with the refrigerator door removed, so I set about doing that. I had just separated the door from the rest of the refrigerator and was in the process of trying to maneuver it towards the nearest wall so I could lean it there without spilling the raw eggs, quarts of milk and juice and various condiments lodged on the door shelves, when a very commanding male voice said, “Police! Drop it and put your hands up!” So I did. Drop it, I mean. The refrigerator door fell hard on my foot, then toppled over with a loud crash, spilling milk, juice and catsup all over the kitchen floor. I proceeded to jump around in the mess—oh, did I forget to mention the broken, half-frozen eggs mixed in with everything else?—yelling, “Daddy has an Owie!! Daddy has an Owie!!”
You—as did the two startled police officers standing there--may wonder why I would yell such an odd phrase at such a tense time. Well, for one thing my foot hurt very, very badly. As for the wording of the phrase, I had made a pact between myself and God when my oldest child was born, that I would not swear in front of my children. With my eldest now six years old, I had had plenty of time to develop a more appropriate reaction to pain than my childless repertoire of rather more colorful words. Hence, “Daddy has an Owie!!” (You might be interested to know that my first truly spontaneous use of the phrase came about when my youngest son was about eighteen months old. I was napping on the couch. Son was exploring his surroundings. Son finds a large, heavy glass candy dish on coffee table. Son decides to awaken sleeping father by dropping large, heavy glass candy dish in the middle of father’s forehead. Father shrieks, “Daddy has an Owie!! Daddy has an Owie!! Oh, my, does Daddy have an Owie!!”)
Well , back to my story. Once the police saw my work order, and Mrs. Ritter sheepishly admitted that she had stayed home ill from work that day and had forgotten that someone from maintenance was suppose to fix the refrigerator—I hobbled away, the police left, and apparently Mrs. Ritter spent the next hour cleaning up her kitchen and finding someone else to fix her refrigerator, as I refused to do it.
I suppose I’d better stop reminiscing now and alert someone to my current dilemma…Oh, no! What is that climbing up my pant leg! "Ow, Ow, Ow! Help! Help! Up here…on the roof…the chimney! Help! Ow!"
“Daddy, is that you?”
“Yes, Joey! Run and tell Mommy to call 911! I got stuck in the chimney trying to get out a nest of squirrels…and the mommy squirrel is biting me on…on…Daddy’s bottom, and…and… ‘Daddy has an Owie!!’”
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