Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ (or How I F*cked Up My Arm)
A couple weeks ago, I got a bruise so nasty it made Oprah’s face look like something that’s not disgusting. It happened when I was at work. I was outside telling my boss something (she was in her truck on a smoke break), and for whatever reason, when we were done chatting, I decided to run across the parking lot to get back into the building. I should probably mention that I was running on 4 hours of sleep for the past 48 hours. Sleep deprivation, clumsiness, my arm’s suicidal tendencies–whatever the reason, I rammed my arm into a brick column outside my workplace. And it hurt.
I think most people would agree that this is a pretty embarrassing way to get a bruise, you know, by accidentally sprinting into a brick pillar. Yet, since it happened, I’ve been strangely proud of it. Being the clutzomatic that I am, bruises are no strangers to my limbs. After a long night of partying, I wake up with a bruise. After a long night of playing particularly heated games of solitaire, I wake up with a bruise. After a long night of examining my bruises, I wake up with a bruise. Why this particular bruise is so special to me, I’ll never understand.
Maybe it’s because it looks like a heart.
Or a Hershey’s kiss.
Or maybe a wizard hat.
Or maybe an ear of corn.
Ok, maybe not that last one.
Regardless of its shape, I’ve been showing it to everyone. When I was sitting in a doctor’s office waiting room and a guy next to me asked what happened to my arm, I was more than happy to tell him. In the check-out line at Kroger, the cashier asked me if I’d be paying with cash or credit, so I happily whipped out the bruise. I got pulled over for speeding, and when the officer asked for my license and registration, I responded with, “Hey, you wanna see my bruise?” He didn’t seem to like that. We exchanged words. Long story short, I ended up getting a fine and a taser to my neck. But I know he was impressed by the bruise.
Sadly, the bruise is beginning to fade. I now have nothing to impress policemen with. I guess I’ll have to run into a brick column again.