(A quick note first--poor Anton is quite ill at the moment, which accounts for his lack of Monday post. Apologies from all of us, and wishes for Anton to feel better soon. I guess that curse I put on him worked, huh?)
So. I am clumsy.
I have many tales of clumsiness (sounds like a good title for a rather lame antho, doesn't it? Tales of Horror, Tales of Dread, Tales of Clumsiness.) Like the time when, 3 months pregnant with my first, I walked into the couch and dislocated my pinky toe. It literally stuck out at a right angle from the rest of my foot, and hurt like hell. I called my Mom. My Mom, keep in mind, is an emergency room nurse.
Sobbing, I told her what happened. Her response--remember, this is the response of a licensed emergency room nurse, who is furthermore my own mother--was to say irritably, "Why weren't you wearing shoes? You know you're clumsy!"
Or, the more important parallel to today's story--which is in fact much the same story--would be the day my husband and I returned from our honeymoon. Ah, newlyweds. We were getting ready to go to sleep. Turned off the bedroom light, realized we'd left the bathroom light on.
"I'll get it honey," I trilled, eager to be a Helpful Loving Wife.
I got up, switched off the light, turned to head back to the bedroom...and slammed my nose into the doorframe.
It really hurt. But the best part was imagining the black eye I would get from it, and how I was due back to work in two days. So I'd arrive fresh from my honeymoon with a black eye, and tell everyone I walked into a door. Yeah. Sure. (I didn't end up bruising, luckily.)
And now, eight years later, I am in the exact same situation.
This morning I was brushing my teeth (an activity which seems particularly hazardous for me of late.) Hubs walked in, like he does, which drives me nuts because I hate having people watch me brush my teeth, but whatever.
Anyway, I rinsed, and we had a short chat about whatever. I patted his behind and turned to leave the bathroom...
whereupon I smacked my nose right into the freaking bathroom door. The edge of the door. Hard.
It still hurts. Throbs, even. I can't really tell yet if it's swollen--it looks a little puffy to me, but my nose always looks puffy to me because I hate my nose (perhaps it's puffy from crying over how I don't like it?), but the shadow under my left eye seems a little darker than usual...and my stepdaughter arrives tomorrow for her summer visit.
If the eye goes black, I will post a picture.
But seriously, I walked into a door? Why don't I just tell people my husband beats me, because you know that's what they'll all be thinking.
Anybody got any ridiculous injury stories to make me feel better? Or callous mothers?