Several nights ago, I'd just finished
He laughed. "What are you talking about?"
Too late. I'd already put my Murder She Wrote glasses on.....not that I actually think I'm Jessica Fletcher, I just pretend when I follow ambulances, tail people down the bread aisle and tell everyone I meet my main source of income is solving an abundance of unrelated murders in a quiet Maine town. "You've got a black eye. How do you get a black eye and not notice?"
His hand went up to his face. "A black eye?"
"Yeah, it's round, dark, looks like an Oreo with the middle gone. Look, I'm trying to explain it in terms I understand. But I'm running out of ideas."
"No, nothing is what I've lost around my waist in the last week. That looks like someone punched you. Who was it? That kid handing out flyers after Church try to rough you up? I told him, the babies would anything paper."
"I'll go take a look." Husband strolled casually towards the bathroom. A minute later, he returned, smiling.
"You take getting the crap beat out of you very well. I don't know whether to be proud of you, or terrified of our chances in the Zombie Apocalypse. So, who was it? Truckers? A gang of nineteen-fifties-style high school students back from the dead to settle some unfinished business? An angry pack of migrating ferrets?...
"The baby's not a ferret."
"The baby hit me with a sippy cup when I was sleeping."
"He does that."
"At least it wasn't a biker gang."
"Night....or the ferrets...those would've been bad."
If you've gotten hit in the face with a sippy cup, please share. As this is a relatively rare occurrence, also feel free to let me know if you've gotten hit in the face with something else or if you have any fun plans for Thanksgiving....those two may correlate...think hard.
Until Next Time, Readers!