Have you ever seen someone get clotheslined? You know, like in the movies, where a poor soul is mid-sprint and runs chest-first into a rope or wire and proceeds to somersault backwards into a pile of regret? I’ve never actually witnessed that in real life… until last night. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a WWE wrestler taking the hit, it was my beautiful, well-intentioned, highly accident-prone wife.
It started innocently enough. I was stationed in one room, doing very important man-things (read: not moving), when my phone started buzzing in the next room over. Now, I could have gotten up to grab it, but why risk throwing off the delicate balance of my laziness? So I called out to Jo, my darling wife, and asked if she could grab it for me.
And bless her soul, she did what any loving partner would do, she hopped to action, dashed into the room like a multitasking ninja mom, and snatched up the buzzing iPhone to deliver it to her helpless husband.
Then… it happened.
Two sounds. First: KABANG-KA-CRASH. That sound a person makes when their life choices collide with gravity and extension cords. Second: a sharp gasp, followed by a groan that told me we were somewhere between “stubbed toe” and “full-body reset.”
I bolted from my seat and rushed in to find the carnage.
There she was. Flat on the ground. One hand holding her knee. The other still gripping the phone like she was the final relay runner at the Olympics. Determined. Resilient. Furious.
At her feet, the war zone: my PC tower laying sideways like a defeated AT-AT walker, the extension cord yanked halfway across the room, and a look on her face that said I will burn this entire house down if one more thing touches me.
Apparently, when she went to deliver the phone, she forgot it was still plugged in. Not just lightly tethered—hardwired. The iPhone cord was connected to my desktop, and like the world’s most loyal guard dog, it wasn’t about to let that phone go quietly. It snapped tight as Jo passed the halfway point across the living room, jerking her to a dead halt mid-stride. The cord ripped the computer off the desk, and Jo, in turn, went airborne in what I can only describe as an “accidental backflip without the flip.”
I burst out laughing. Not at the pain—no, no, I’m not a monster, but at the pure absurdity of it all. She had just been clotheslined by a charging cable. I checked the phone. Still intact. Still charging. Apple: 1, Humanity: 0.
Through it all, she didn’t drop the phone. Didn’t even let go. I praised her. “You’re lucky I only own an iPhone,” I said. “If it were a MacBook, that thing might’ve dragged you all the way into the garage.”
Jo didn’t laugh. She looked at me, dead serious, and hissed through gritted teeth:
“If I ever die tripping over your charging cable, I expect a Viking funeral and AppleCare to pay for it.”
Moral of the story? Never underestimate the tensile strength of a Lightning cord. And always marry someone who’ll take a literal fall for your 12% battery alert.
Hope today’s a graceful one.
— austininva
