02.20.06

This is so stupid that it must be shared.

As you may know, I have a long-standing (and probably unhealthy) relationship with my massaging showerhead. As you may also know, my water heater is the size of a teacup and the bane of my "happy shower" existence. Well....

This morning, at 05:07, I figure I've got enough time to get a little happy. But the water's starting to run cold. No problem. I'll just fire up the ol' G-Twist. Since the bathroom's warm, I'll just hunker down on the floor, and do what comes naturally. That part went off without a hitch; happy, happy, joy, joy.

However, when I got up (full force, I'm -gonna-be-late-for-work mode) I drove my skull into the sharpest corner of my bathroom sink vanity. *THUD!* I landed on my ass. Hand to head. Wow, that's gonna be a hell of a knot. Pulled my hand away and blood all over the place.

Owww!
Euww!
Aghh!
Owww!

Gaddamn, flamingo fart, monkey balls, shit, brazzly-fraddle snarb.

Got the bleeding somewhat under control. I called as I started to drive to work. That was funny.

", how may I help you?"
"Hey, this is Xat. I hit myself on the head and am running a bit late."
"..."
"It took a bit for the blood to coagulate."
"...Okay."

Got to work, showed off the injury. "I, uhm, banged it on a cabinet." (Because some things aren't meant to be shared with your boss/co-workers.) Started my day. I ran to the bathroom after an hour to check out my pupils. I'd also just shown my boo-boo to a couple of customers. This was bad.

When I got to the mirror, I found that the wound hadn't stopped bleeding. A 2mm-wide drip of blood wended along my skull. I cleaned it up and slapped a paper towel on my head.

Oh sure, you try tending the register, serving coffee, pulling out pastries, and cutting bagels with one hand. Not easy. Almost every one asked if I'd done something to my head. No, it's the latest thing. All the cool kids are holding paper towels to their noggins. I'm a slave to fashion.

After a while I got bored with the banged-my-head-on-the-cabinet story and started making things up. "Yeah, I was backin' up my friends in a bar fight," was a favourite. "Trepanning," was another; though I got blank looks.

I had to share the story with Stuff. I text messaged him:
"Masturbation is dangerous. I have a gash on my head from this morning."
He suggested I should install shower sticky things.
"I wasn't in the shower. I'm a clumsy girl."
He asked if my computer chair fell backwards.
"No. I had to be creative." And related exactly what happened.
He offered to come over and pad all the sharp corners, or perhaps I should wear a helmet.
"No. I'll just calm a bit before standing. Though a sex helmet *might* be a big seller."

That set off a slew of product names; the headboard buffer, the noggin de-knocker, the donkey punch defender, the pate plate, and (his) most obvious (and vulgar) (and funniest) the fuck bucket.

Ay me. Here I thought the shower was more dangerous. Oy vey.

Go. Be fabulous. And have a laugh at my klutziness.

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