That's what they all say
I freely admit that I'm not at my best in the morning. In fact, when my alarm goes off at 5:30 for work, I rarely open my eyes between my bed and the shower. Generally it works out for me. Not so, apparently, this morning.
On my way out the bedroom door I turned back to double-check that I'd shut off my alarm clock instead of just hitting snooze. M. Defarge gets up an hour later than I do, so I try to be conscientious of that. Today I checked the alarm (which was off) and then turned around, face first into the side of the door.
You know how everything is worse at 5:30 in the morning? I knew I'd done some damage, so I naturally assumed the worst and started howling. Only then did I take off for the bathroom, where I soon discovered that while I had given myself a fat lip, it wasn't really that bad. Nose and teeth intact, not even that much blood.
Of course, then my inner drama queen kicked in. M. Defarge handed me a tissue with which to blot the minimal bleeding from my lip. About that time, I started to think I'd better put my head down. Always a slippery slope for me. While he looked on lamely from the doorway, I progressed from fine to dizzy to nauseated and sweating to lying prostrate on the floor. Pretty impressive, even for me. Within about five minutes I was convinced that the blow had somehow triggered a full-on case of the stomach flu.
Lucky for him, when I think I'm going to be sick I demand complete solitude. He went back to the bedroom and I lay on the bathroom floor long enough to realize that, in fact, I wasn't sick after all. So at around 6 I picked myself up off the floor, got some ice for my lip, took a shower, and went to work. Today was the beginning of new student orientation, but luckily I didn't have to present, and hopefully I'll look normal again by the time the parents come through on Wednesday.
In the movies, battered women always tell the ER doctors that they walked into a door. Naturally, I assume the converse must be true as well--at least that's what I'm going to tell anyone who asks.
On my way out the bedroom door I turned back to double-check that I'd shut off my alarm clock instead of just hitting snooze. M. Defarge gets up an hour later than I do, so I try to be conscientious of that. Today I checked the alarm (which was off) and then turned around, face first into the side of the door.
You know how everything is worse at 5:30 in the morning? I knew I'd done some damage, so I naturally assumed the worst and started howling. Only then did I take off for the bathroom, where I soon discovered that while I had given myself a fat lip, it wasn't really that bad. Nose and teeth intact, not even that much blood.
Of course, then my inner drama queen kicked in. M. Defarge handed me a tissue with which to blot the minimal bleeding from my lip. About that time, I started to think I'd better put my head down. Always a slippery slope for me. While he looked on lamely from the doorway, I progressed from fine to dizzy to nauseated and sweating to lying prostrate on the floor. Pretty impressive, even for me. Within about five minutes I was convinced that the blow had somehow triggered a full-on case of the stomach flu.
Lucky for him, when I think I'm going to be sick I demand complete solitude. He went back to the bedroom and I lay on the bathroom floor long enough to realize that, in fact, I wasn't sick after all. So at around 6 I picked myself up off the floor, got some ice for my lip, took a shower, and went to work. Today was the beginning of new student orientation, but luckily I didn't have to present, and hopefully I'll look normal again by the time the parents come through on Wednesday.
In the movies, battered women always tell the ER doctors that they walked into a door. Naturally, I assume the converse must be true as well--at least that's what I'm going to tell anyone who asks.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:07 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home