So did a workman outside our place. After a mild wind and rain storm we had lots of debris. Many valiant work crews spent the morning un-burying cars and powerlines from thousands of tree branches. One of these crews was working outside our apartment.
Unfortunately one of the men gashed his hand pretty bad on a ladder.
He cried out loudly getting the attention of my mate.
That time of morning, my wife Olive doesn't typically look like a clown.
She looks more like a woman in a Frank Frazetta painting. She is really hot, happy and healthy, her hair is long and she wears flowing gowns that can be pretty much invisible when backlit.
She is amazing.
She ran out to find the man holding his bloody hand wrapped in a dirty rag.
After some coaxing, she convinced him to come into the house.
He had no idea she was a clown...that is until they walked into our house.
Our livingroom is not set up for guests. It's a clown prop storage vault.
He was understandably creeped out by the room but happy to let the gorgeous gal fix his mit.
His wound needed gauze. We wasted our gauze supply on crafting so Olive made due with about 50 tiny bandaids strung together. Less like a bandage and more like a necklace.
Did I mention that this fellow hardly spoke any English and Olive speaks no Spanish? Yeah that was a thing.
She worked on him as he cautiously looked around at the creepy clown props stored on all the walls.
He spied my big boots by the door and then really freaked out "Husband???"
Olive said, "Yes my man is in the next room but it's alright."
That was it for him, he split out of the apartment holding his hand full of wadded up children's bandages and thanking her in the most polite broken English possible.
We were very thankful for the men working on our town.
I was wondering if he had ever seen the Munsters. He ran away from us like the towns people on that show. I bet he had a crazy story to tell his colleagues.