Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Cat Fight

I'm just going to sweep yesterday into the trash bin and forget about it.
I spent the evening in the Urgent Care clinic with doctors trying to decide whether or not to stitch my lip back together.
Last night during dinner, my cat jumps up on the table. Not happening. I scoop him up with one hand and I'm having an eye-to-eye discussion with him on why he should get his fuzzy ass off my table. Well, I guess he didn't feel secure dangling there and began to flail about. His paws and claws flailed directly to my mouth and sliced my face open. My 'No Swearing In Front of the Kids' rule went out the window as I rushed my bleeding self to the bathroom to survey the damage. I nearly passed out. I don't do so well with the blood and the bleeding.
So after a lovely and drawn out trip to the urgent care, I wound up not with stitches, but butterfly bandages and antibiotic ointment. I kind of looked like Hitler, if he wore the mustache to the side...and if he'd lived long enough for the mustache to turn white. It was very sexy, let me tell you.
So today I look like someone knocked the shit out of me. I can't smile, or laugh, or eat...I can barely drink through a straw.

I will count how many times people ask me "What happened?" I will share the number with you tomorrow, along with my Thursday Thirteen, 13 Gifts Women don't Want to Receive From Their Man.