The Day My Husband Almost Killed Me

Well, obviously, the attempt failed but the story cries to be told.  It was many, many years ago on a dark and dreary night...just had to say that part, but it was dark.

We were attending a local rodeo, before the usage of cell phones and the good sense of having emergency vehicles on scene.  They always save the best and the most dangerous event for last...bull riding.

No, I wasn't riding, but someone with worse luck than me was.  Needless to say, the rider didn't make it to his eight minutes and got a bull's foot to the head.  No doctors were there but my friend, a nurse, tended the injured while she directed Hubby to go make a call for an ambulance.

We were in our old Blazer, the girls in the back, yes; before the car seat/seat belt law, too.  Somehow Hubby had made a plan to drop me off at our road to call as he headed to town to help the emergency services.

He pulled off the side of the road to let me out and as I open the door, he changed his mind, without informing me.  I have one leg out on the highway's edge as he takes his swift left turn to our house.  I grab the arm rest, and yell for him to stop, he can't hear, the children are screaming because they know I am dragging OUTSIDE the vehicle.  My behind and right leg are bouncing on the pavement, I look down, my legs are headed for underneath the rear tires and there is a car behind us.

I make two decisions very quickly...I did not want to lose my legs nor did I want the people behind to see me. In a fraction of a second, I knew what I had to do...drop before my legs were crushed...roll away from the vehicle and stand  up so on one would know what happened.

I did it!!!  I was standing nonchalantly on the side of the highway when the vehicle passed me.  Meanwhile, back in the Blazer, Hubby has discovered what has happened and is telling the girls, Shut up, I have killed your mother!!!

Turning back to check on me, he offers me a ride to the house, now after this event there is no way this guy is driving me anywhere!!!  I walk to the house about three-quarters of a block...and then I look at myself.

My  best jeans are torn, those fine jeans I had poured my trim, curvaceous body (remember, this WAS years ago) into before the rodeo.  They were now ripped down my right side where the pavement had worn them off, my palms and knees were ripped, gouged, gravel embedded and bleeding where I had dropped to save myself.

I began to shake all over with the shock of my injuries, Melissa brought me sweet tea, the cure-all at my house, and I just sat on the porch, not able to move another step.

My friend stopped by to check on me after the injured rider was transported.  She said, Den told me he threw you out of the truck and I should check on you.  Then she saw me clearly!  She said, OMG, he really did, I  thought he just dropped you off at the house.

She tried to get me to go to the hospital but I didn't.  The bull rider was okay and that was what mattered.

And that, my dear friends, if you have lasted through my long-winded story, is how my husband tried to kill me...and almost thirty years later, I am still pissed about my jeans!!!!