On Saturday night, I managed to run smack into the corner of a door in our home here. Sure, I had some beer with dinner that night, but I can assure you the accident had more to do with dumb luck (or, more accurately, clumsy coordination) than intoxication. Moreover, I must exonerate Claudine from any suspected domestic abuse. She has (so far) been a model wife. Lest you snicker at the prospect of woman-on-man physical abuse, let all laughing cease now. I saw my fair share of it when I worked one summer with the prosecutor's office on the misdemeanor domestic violence docket for the City of Detroit. It's all fun and games until someone gets bleach thrown in his face by his pregnant girlfriend.
So, after some initial cursing of the door and its unfair and ill-chosen positioning in my range of motion, I stopped to notice that my vision was suddenly partially obscured. Sensing something blooming and boiling just above my right eye, I went to a mirror to investigate. That is when I discovered that my forehead was hosting a freak show.
(yes, I, too, want to pluck that deviant eyebrow hair)
I don't think I will be disputed in admitting that I am not the world's most attractive male specimen, but allow me the vanity to argue that I am, at least pre-bump, not offensive to behold. With this tumor taking root, however, I feared giving my notoriously squeamish wife a most unwelcome and unexpected preview of Halloween horrors. I covered my new blemish, approached her, and insisted that she brace herself for the worst. Thankfully, upon the big reveal, Claudine did not recoil (visibly--although my eyesight was impaired so I can't be sure) and instead suggested ice and some Advil. I countered with the suggestion of a beer. In a compromise moment of sorts, I went with all three and threw in a viewing of the movie Juno (or what I could see of it from behind my new intrusion) to lift my spirits.
(note the jumbo-sized bottle--a Nepal standard--and the reassuring, if questionable, "Strong Beer" label)
Things could be worse, the movie reminded me: I could be grappling with the realities of an unplanned teenage pregnancy. Again, no laughing matter, though Juno does a good job of making it so.
I awoke the next morning relatively unscathed. This setback was fortunately rather minor. But be forewarned: not all bumps in the road are actual bumps in the road. Beware mischievous doors.