I woke up this morning, rubbed my eyes, and immediately noticed that my left eye must have experienced a blow strong enough to create a massive contusion. I fell out of bed, found a mirror, and started going down the “is that a black eye” checklist.
I know what you’re thinking: if I have to ask if it’s a black eye, I suck — or at least my “black eye” is wimpy and not even worth mentioning. Anyway… back to the checklist:
1) Is my eye red/bruised? Unfortunately, this one is a no-go. Since I had not piled on the under-eye concealer that normally hides the day-to-day exhaustion of chasing a toddler, both eyes could have been legit shiners and no one would know.
2) Is my eye puffy? Again, a no-starter… for the same reasons, except that concealer does nothing to hide the puffiness. Damn.
At this point, I would like to officially apologize to the string of guests we have coming over the holidays (who I am *thrilled* to see and spend time with!). If on a normal morning, I look like I may or may not have been beaten about the face, I would imagine that you might be a little alarmed. For those who might say, “what about your husband? Why are you apologizing to guests and not the most important person in your life who ‘gets’ to see you every morning pre-makeup?” My answer: Shut your face. He saw me pre-makeup before we got married, which means he knew what he was getting himself into. Also, he’s smart enough to know that this could only be amplified by chasing around the fruit of his loins 24/7. In conclusion, shut your face. Anyway… back to the checklist:
3) Does it remind me of times previous that I got a black eye? Well. I think the last time I even got a black eye was when I was little (4-ish?) and didn’t understand that when you pitch a ball to another kid who happens to be holding a bat, you need to stand back because that bat swings toward you at a decent speed and it hurts really bleeping bad to get hit in the eye socket with the business end of a bat. Basically, I don’t remember what it feels like to have a black eye… other than the pity. I kind of remember the pity. (Although, now all I get for my pain and suffering on that day is mockery. Many thanks to my father, who says he loves me.)
4) Did I get punched/assaulted? The sad answer is, probably. Unfortunately, my child really likes to be held, really likes to hold toys, and really likes to shake those toys as hard as possible. Those three things are the perfect storm of “Damn! My (eye/jaw/ear/nose/etc.)!” Also, my husband occasionally elbows me in my (and his, just to be clear) sleep, but I sleep hard enough that I don’t always remember. So, this one is a toss-up.
5) Would a waitress at a crappy diner come up to me and say, “Oh, God – what happened to your face??” I don’t know. I haven’t dined at a crappy diner (see what I did there?) for a while – probably the last time I was reeeeeally hung over. However, the pain is localized enough for me to say, “not here, or here so much, but right about here,” a la Tommy Boy.
In conclusion: Apparently my life is a little rough and I’m going to have to suspend the verdict until it becomes a little more obvious. My new action plan: find some overpriced beauty product to make me look less like a mugging victim; quit letting my child hold hard plastic toys while I hold him; go get some greasy food at a diner; and, my favorite of all, watch Tommy Boy, while texting my brother all the funny quotes (which means the whole bloody movie). Join me, blogosphere in making our lives a little happier and less cringe-inducing.