I am now the proud owner of one whopping shiner. It takes all the attention away from the bags under my eyes and from my crow’s feet. It has turned into the most flattering shade of deep plum and rests over my left eye like a Portobello mushroom, only purple.
I’m sure, that somehow, this is my husband's fault and I won’t rest until I figure out how he did this to me.
I was innocently stumbling in the dark toward the bathroom to take a shower before work. Usually I have my arms working like Dutch windmills whirring around so I don’t slam into anything but, for some reason, today I smacked into the door frame. Rick said later that it was like a truck slamming into the house. He loves to flatter me.
I stood there stunned. This was not my normal wake up routine. What does one do in this situation?
My mouth opened, a yell split the air then I grabbed my head.
“Honey are you alright?”
“Just hunkey dori! Of course I’m not alright. I just tried to remodel the bedroom with my head.”
“Don’t you put your arms out in front to feel your way?” Rick asked nestling back into the covers?
“Oh, I never thought of that? Why don’t you show me?”
I staggered into the bathroom. My face was covered with blood and I couldn’t tell if I needed stitches or not. I was about to pick up a cloth to wash my face up when I realized I could milk this a little and make him feel guilty; since somehow this had to be his fault.
“Honey I think I need stitches.”
He grunted and slowly pulled himself out of bed. I love when he dotes on me.
"Janie. You’re bleeding.”
All that money we spent for his doctor’s degree was finally paying off. He couldn’t find a cloth so I dug one up myself. Apparently I didn’t need stitches, but suddenly I felt nauseas and went back to bed with a clean cloth plastered to my brow.
“How did you get blood clear over here?” Rick asked pointing to the foot of the bed on his side.
There was something fishy going on here. I don’t remember ever laying my head down there and I still don’t know how I ended up smashing into the wall.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Hah! I knew it. He wanted to get rid of any incriminating evidence. He was washing out the bloody cloth too, and the floor. Something was definitely up, but my head is too sore to figure it out.
Happy Mother's daze.