Yeah. Today is one of those days.
And it's all even better, truly, because I managed to give myself a black eye on Saturday (it's not really as black as it is super swollen - and also I am probably exaggerating a little bit but whatever, it's one of those days) - which means I have now officially had two black eyes in my entire life, and I gave both of them to myself. Yep.
So that brings me to a story. A little comedic relief, if you will. I know I need some, and thinking of this will probably make me laugh, and that will be great! Except that, knowing me, and knowing today, laughing will probably make me choke on my own saliva and then panic because I'm choking on my saliva, and then I'll flail my arms and knock over my tea, all over my laptop and myself (I just made it, so it'll be nice and hot) and then I'll bash my head when trying to clean up the tea that is everywhere, and then I won't even be able to post this because I'll be unconcious, so I apologize in advance if you never read this, except that it's probably for the best, because I'm not making sense.
And OH MY GOD. I just wrote an entire lovely post, which ended up being pretty funny, if you ask me, and then when I selected "Publish", google crashed on Mozilla, and now it's sitting there as a stupid window and it didn't save the best part of the story and I have to use stupid Internet Explorer and if that isn't an indicator of my day today, I don't know what is. Grr.
Once upon a time, I was in Brownies. Yep. And Brown Owl was a nasty lady. Which has nothing to do with the story but I really didn't like brown owl, and now, as an adult, don't understand why anyone who clearly despised children would volunteer to spend any amount of time with them.
Which brings me to grade one brownie camp. A weekend retreat, where we'd spend two nights sleeping in bunks, where we would eat weird things (I had tacos for my first time that weekend) and where we would earn badges. They made me go into a swamp to catch tadpoles and that was gross and icky and there were mosquitos. Also, where a girl did a cartwheel right in front of me, knocking my grape juice out of my hands, which spilled all over my brand new matching short and top set, resulting in Brown Owl stripping me down in front of all the other girls, as I cried because when I told her that my outfit was new and I didn't want it to stain, she told me my mother was stupid because the weekend checklist said to wear "old play clothes". I knew my mom just wanted me to feel special, and it made me cry that someone would call her stupid. Brown Owl, you are evil.
WOW. I have issues with Brown Owl.
On Saturday night, as I slept, I rolled over and whacked my face hard into the wood railing around the bunkbed. I saw friggen stars. At 6 years old, it took all my strength not to cry out for my mom, and I stifled my tears and forced myself back to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache. One of the cool "older" girls (8 years old - woo) looked at me and asked me why I had marker on my face.
That's a weird question. Why would I draw on myself with marker? When other girls commented, I finally looked in the mirror.
I had given myself a black eye. And not just a black eye, like.. oh, it's kinda swollen and maybe pink. It was truly black - it looked like I'd gotten in a fight with a Sharpie.
Upon my arrival home, I was concerned about school the next day. What would I tell them? Black eyes were not cool!
My dad offered me some words of wisdom. "Tell them," he said, "That a bear punched you in the face."
Well, that was good enough for me! When sitting cross-legged in a circle for attendance the next morning, my teacher asked "Patti! What happened?"
I was so ready for this. My dad was so smart. I cleared my throat and proudly proclaimed:
"MY DAD PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE. Oh, haha. I mean, not my dad. That doesn't make sense. A BEAR punched me in the face."