Friday, July 2, 2010
So I got beaned in the head with a baseball. Seriously. A giant bulbous growth spurted out of my head instantly. It was crazy. A huge lump just materialized in seconds. That part was kinda cool. It was like being in a sci-fi film with a giant alien baby about to pop out of my head. I’m fine and the alien baby is retreating back into my brain. I am now in the “black-eye phase” of the getting-whacked-in-the-head-recovery-process. So people who see me think I am either a volatile drunk or a battered wife. Those are the stereotypes the fine people of the hardware store were weighing as I purchased trash bags. Sure, we can all think of lots of reasons why somebody would have a black eye, but when you’re of a certain age I think Mr. Dude Who Gets Drunk And Picks Fights and Mrs. That Bastard Hit Me are the most obvious guesses. And people guess. They fucking do, I can see it on their faces. This is not paranoia on my part. Although, I did recently experience some head trauma…and the trash bags were kinda looking at me funny…it is 1985 right?