Writer's Workshop and the fall

Do you remember the early days of marriage?

Those were the days when I would don outfits such as this (Since I know you're wondering, this is not a picture of me but I pretty much look exactly like that.)

and shoes such as these

and parade around my pre-baby body that I totally took for granted solely for the, um, entertainment, of another.

One such night, I was wearing an outfit very similar to that in an attempt to seduce my new husband. (As if I actually need to seduce him. Please. He was a 20-something year old guy.)

As I'm walking down the hall, I hear him in the kitchen, popping open a beer. I rush down the stairs trying to get into the living room before he sits down and turns on the tv, around the corner, trip and fall over a box.

And in the process of falling, bust my lip on the couch so badly that I actually just laid there and starting crying. My husband runs in and tries to help me sit up.

Note that I said try. He's actually having trouble since he can barely breathe due to hysterical laughter.

He finally is able to help me up, checks to make sure all my teeth are intact, gets me onto the couch, then gets me a rag and some ice. My lip is killing me. And bleeding like crazy.

After an hour of gushing blood, we begin to wonder if I'll need stitches.

The thought of this makes me cry even more. Not the thought of stitches, but the fact that I'll have to go to the emergency room in stripper clothes. (Yes, in my distraught state, the thought that I could just actually change clothes before leaving didn't cross my mind.)

So, Alex decides to call my dad (who's a doctor) to see if I need stitches. I actually don't remember a lot of the conversation except the part when my dad apparently asked what I was doing when I fell and Alex responded with, "Um, well, she was just walking around."

I ended up not getting stitches, but this injury, combined with a lip injury I had as a child (which was all my brother's fault and material for another post) dooms me to a life where half of my lip is fatter than the other half.

See?

The light from the flash even highlights the fat part! Between this injury and my aforementioned lip injury, I have quite a scar. But since I rarely leave my house without lip gloss or lipstick, it's hard to tell.


The moral of this story is that if you're dressed like this

(Again, not me, but pretty much what I look like in the bedroom. *cough* yeah right! *cough*)

and running, then watch where you are going!

This has been part of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop