Bubba and Ben wrestled the other night. Then, Scooter and
Ben wrestled. Then, Bubba and Ben, then Scooter and Ben, then...you get
the idea. It was difficult to keep it 1 on 1 rather than 2 on 1, which
surely would have resulted in more injuries than what were sustained
that night. Who was injured, you might ask? Me. I wasn't even involved,
other than to keep the non-wrestling party busy. Bubba was sitting on my
lap, squirming around to try to get into the action. At one point, he
threw his body back against me and cracked me right on the chin with his
head. It didn't phase him, but I have a blue bruise on the bottom of my
chin. I never realized how often I sit at my desk with my chin on my
hand until the day(s) after. Youch. Ben (actually, Ben's nose) usually takes the brunt of
Bubba's errant body parts; I guess it was my turn.
It seems the mental abuse I've been inflicting upon
myself for the past year is finally manifesting itself physically. Not
only do I have a bruise on my chin a la Bubba, but I also have a
skinned knee. I'd say this one is even worse than the one I got last
year. I slipped on the curb on my way TO work (last time was the way
home from work). Luckily, I did not ruin a pair of work pants this time,
but man, my knee hurts. I suppose I've always kind of been a klutz. I
remember my step mom making an off-hand comment about me in my "clumsy
phase" except that phase started before I moved in with them in 6th
grade, and I was still tripping through it when I moved out after high
school. Because I like to think the best in people, I'll remember the
comment being her way of trying to make me feel better about hitting my
shin on the dishwasher and spilling my cereal all over the clean dishes.
The trouble is, the only reason I don't do that, anymore is because
I've quit eating cereal in the mornings. Either that, or I've quit
emptying the dishwasher.