Blunderin' Bucky: And this is my lovely wife

Someone please get me a helmet before I hurt myself again.

When it's January in Michigan, chances are good that one will be up to one's weather-chapped ass in snow, and that one's extremeties will be mauled by temperatures that were never meant for hairless skin. So when one is offered a business trip to Florida shortly after New Year's day, one accepts it with an enthusiasm previously reserved for Tom Waits concert tickets and/or the second comin' of Jay-sus, whichever happens first.

So, yeah, I got sent to Orlando for some training, and Jim came with me. When we boarded in Flint, it was nine degrees and snowing; when we unfolded in Orlando, it was sunny and 70. Many layers of clothing were gleefully shed between baggage check and the rental counter. PT Cruisers were pretty new then, and we rented a black one with a sunroof, which was sooooo cool (and if you don't like PT Cruisers, I've got a grabby little sphincter for your tongue).

Jim was on his own for amusement during the day while I was in my classes, and spent some days fishing with a buddy of his who had migrated south some years ago. I'd heard lots of stories about Ken (he and Jim played hockey together on a number of teams back in the day), but I'd never met him more than in passing one time, so I was excited to finally get to hang out with him when we planned an evening in Daytona.

We were all set to go out to dinner with Ken, and we swung by his house to pick him up in the Cruiser. He got in the back seat, and he and Jim started talkin' guy talk (which means I wasn't really payin' attention), and I thought I saw Jim open the sun roof. I thought it would be funny to hold my hands up like a daredevil on a rollercoaster and let out a hearty "Whooooooooo!" as we drove down Ken's 25 MPH street. Yeah, it doesn't take much to amuse me, does it?

I reached up, and only I could find the tiny little what-I-thought-was-an-opening in the sun roof with the tips of my fingers. I expected to have free movement, because I could've sworn the damn thing had been opened, and as I puzzled over it, Jim reached down and flipped the switch to open the damn thing that I thought was already open. Before I could react, the panel slid back with great authority and pinned my flip-off finger squarely in place, all the while pinching the bejesus out of it in the bargain. Jim had no idea I had my fingers wedged into an incredibly small space in the first place, so he was doubly puzzled when I daintily screamed:

"MotherFUCKER! That's my FINGER!"

Once he realized what was going on, he tried opening the sun roof -- OUCH! -- and closing it (thing wouldn't move). The only way the panel wanted to move was through my finger.

Now, I've always liked to think I'd be stoic in a situation where I was suddenly trapped and experiencing pain, and possible dismemberment. Totally blew the shit out of that notion. Poor Ken was in the back seat, just meeting his buddy's wife, and here I am in the front with my finger stuck in the sun roof and spewing obscenities like somebody stepped on the devil's tail, and we weren't even off his street yet. Luckily, he reached up and pitched in to help after a chorus or two from me:

"COCKSUCKER! Motherfuckingfuckerthat'smyFINGER!"

I didn't care if they broke the fucking sun roof and we had to pay for it, I was so freaked out I was gonna lose the end of my finger. How the hell would I explain that to people? "Uh, it was an unfortunate sun roof incident. We don't like to speak of it." And then Jim would probably have to laugh, and I'd probably have to smack him, and I'd forget it was the hand with the tipless finger, and I'd end up hurting myself more, and it would be a vicious cycle of laughing and slapping, and I just didn't think I had the energy to live like that.

The ending is happy, and enables me to type this story with all my fingertips intact. Between the two of them, they were able to push the panel up in a totally unnatural way and this allowed me to yank my throbbing finger free. Maybe I should rephrase that, because now I'm strangely aroused. How about: I snatched my finger from the jaws of death. Ah, never mind.

Any way you flip the weasel, though, I'd be willing to bet I made some kind of first impression on my husband's buddy.