I have had a small scar on my forehead ever since I was a little boy that has served as painful reminder of my nearly winless wrestling record and my overall physical weakness. For years I have wondered who to hold accountable for my senseless ass whipping and then I sat down with my long lost cousin Joy and her husband Zach. Zach and I discovered a mutual love of scotch and its many wonderful attributes, including its propensity to allow its consumers the ability to converse without inhibition. Thus, the interrogation began.
Me: “Joy, you’re like the same age as my brother, right?”
Me: “Joy, you’re like the same age as my brother, right?”
Joy: “Yes, I believe so.”
Me: “Ah, so you were present on the night I received this!!”
(I pull my hair back to reveal my menacing scar.)
Joy: (gasp!!)
The next thing I knew, Joy’s face had dropped and she admitted that she was in fact the cousin in charge of babysitting on the dreadful night of my disfigurement. She even went on to explain that there had been so much blood and panic that the situation had actually scarred her as well (mentally, of course). Head injuries bleed profusely, no matter how superficial the wound is, so naturally Joy called 911 when she saw her much younger cousin writhing on the floor with a crimson red face and stained shirt. Funny enough, when the EMS finally arrived at the house (approximately at the same time as my father) they all concurred that I was going to be fine and gave me a band-aid with Snoopy on it for my trouble. So, satisfied with Joy’s genuine expression of remorse and the knowledge that she had lost a little sleep over my injury as well, I told her all was forgiven and we proceeded to hug-it-out.
The next thing I knew, Joy’s face had dropped and she admitted that she was in fact the cousin in charge of babysitting on the dreadful night of my disfigurement. She even went on to explain that there had been so much blood and panic that the situation had actually scarred her as well (mentally, of course). Head injuries bleed profusely, no matter how superficial the wound is, so naturally Joy called 911 when she saw her much younger cousin writhing on the floor with a crimson red face and stained shirt. Funny enough, when the EMS finally arrived at the house (approximately at the same time as my father) they all concurred that I was going to be fine and gave me a band-aid with Snoopy on it for my trouble. So, satisfied with Joy’s genuine expression of remorse and the knowledge that she had lost a little sleep over my injury as well, I told her all was forgiven and we proceeded to hug-it-out.
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