Thoughtful About . . . Attack of the Door!

There I was, innocently putting Rowyn into the car at the library. Minding my own business, moving a bag out of the way so he could climb over to his seat. Doing it that way avoid him entering on the street-side.

Then, from out of nowhere, came a voice. My mother’s voice to be precise. I couldn’t tell you what she said–probably something along the lines of, “Bye! See you later!”

Acting on my carefully-hewn instinct, I swung my head around to find the source of the shout and became immediately aware of Xoe skipping up the sidewalk to give NanNan one more hug. Which my oh-so-sharp brain recognized as fine.

A fraction of a second before said brain was overwhelmed with, “Ouch! Darn it, what did I do now?!”

There was metal where it should not have been–at my mouth. Oh-so-sharp brain registered car door.

What in the world was my car door doing at my mouth??

Apparently when I turned my head, I, in my half-on-the-sidewalk/half-on-the-street stance, was at the perfect height for a door sandwich. Lovely.

Pain burst through my awareness, yes. The taste of blood stained my tongue. But more, as I reclaimed my mouth from that vicious door, was the accusation.

Great job, Roseanna. How’d you manage THAT? What if you knocked your teeth loose? Worse, what if you knocked your bridge loose? You obviously cut something. What? Was the door itself in your mouth? Why didn’t you pay attention to whether it was a through-the-lip or if you were smiling or something and it actually hit your gum?

Oh, golly, how are you going to explain to a doctor that you need a tetanus shot because of a cut on your GUM?

Meanwhile, Mom is running up demanding to know what happened, certain, from the look on my face, that I’m about to be sick.

No, no, I assure her. No nausea. Just overwhelmed at my own amazing klutziness.

Can she get me a drink of water to wash my mouth out?

Well now, that would be fine. Though when I swish and spit, the water isn’t tinged red or anything. No fountain of blood to be worth exclamation. The worry on Mom’s face fades to general concern as she inspects my war wound for me and says it looks okay. Asks if my teeth are okay.

I assure her they are, buckle the whining-in-worry Xoe into the car, and get behind the wheel. Naturally, I check the mirror. I can feel my lip swelling up already.

Except it doesn’t look swollen. And the bleeding’s already stopped, just looks a little red. And still tastes a little funny. And it doesn’t really hurt, just feels where there’s usually nothing to be felt.

All that for that?

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want it to be worse. But as I drove home, mentally composing my excuse for any police officer who happened to pull me over for going 47 in a 40 (I do this every single time I drive, LOL, though I’ve never been pulled over) it occurs to me that my excuse of “My lip’s swelling, my gum’s throbbing–no, not in pain, just throbbing–and I need some ice!” would only earn me an arched brow and perhaps a fine for lying. Sheesh. All that drama, and no visible proof!

So when I got home (without getting pulled over, I’d like to add), I grabbed an ice cube to hold to my not-swollen-though-it-felt-like-it lip, largely to elicit sympathy from my husband–who was on the phone and didn’t notice until I’d already chucked the ice cube. (Though he gave me ample sympathy afterward, when I told him of the vicious door attack.) I sent a whiny email to my best friend, and otherwise forgot about it.

Until later that night, when I was viciously attacked in the same spot by a toothbrush . . . 😉