There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


You should see the other guy

I have a special gift. I have, well beyond the limits of normal humans (and most furry woodland creatures) the ability to injure myself in spectacularly, stunningly, fantastically stupid ways. My gift visited me again last night, causing me much pain and suffering this morning.

The gift is especially fond of falling as a entree into the world of pain and humiliation. I can trip over a molecule. Last night as I walked home from an evening out, I tripped over something probably slightly larger than a molecule, but I have no idea what it was. For all I know, a bony, ghostly, rotting hand came up out of the sidewalk and grabbed my ankle. I did an Olympic caliber face plant into the sidewalk, banging both knees and abrading the skin off the heels of both hands. But thatís all fairly pedestrian (ha!) in its quality and execution. The good part is that I think I may have broken my nose. Distracted by the pain in my knees and hands, I didnít pay much attention to the nose until this morning, when I woke up and looked into the mirror and managed to stifle a scream. My nose was very swollen and one of my eyes was puffed almost shut. Plus, my hair was a frightful mess, but thatís really just me in the morning.

I put some ice on the bridge of my nose for a while, then checked again. Some puffing gone, enough for me to see that I have not one, but two nice shiners. My head hurts. A lot. Really, really hurts. Thump, thump, thump goes my head. Itís hard to know how much is hangover and how much is injury-related. I donít care Ė I just want it to stop.

Please stop pounding, oh head. I will give you anything you want if you stop this madness. Whatever happened to that Stop the Madness Powter woman, anyway? Why arenít we seeing her on the Surreal Life?

Anyway, letís do a quick tally over the last 5 years. First, tripped on a rock while running, landed on a different rock, one that was all sharp and slicey. Saw what my kneecap looks like if I were inside-out boy. Twelve stitches.

About a year after that was the Halloween-at-the-drag-queen-pageant fall. Down a big, Scarlett OíHara type staircase after just having sucked the helium out of a balloon so I could talk like Minnie. Broke a bone in my foot. Crutches.

Iím sure there are more in between there, but my head hurts too much to think. My nose hurts, too. I want bed.

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