Call me Grace

A few weeks ago, Rob handed me a $10 bill while I was behind the wheel in the drive-thru line. I thought it would be funny to pretend to eat the money, so I crumpled it up and pantomimed putting it in my mouth, secretly putting it next to my face on the left side. In doing so, I actually scratched the side of my face. Not a paper cut, but a facial laceration. Caused by money.

On Tuesday, I picked up the door to Stew’s habitat. It is plexiglass with a thick wood frame and it pulls out completely. I bonked my nose on it, and was reminded of the sensation I had a week earlier, when Rob used me as a grappling dummy in class and his leg grazed my nose. That time, I was genuinely concerned that my nose would start bleeding and wouldn’t that be awkward. My nose didn’t bleed either time, but I succeeded in embarrassing myself anyway by saying aloud in front of all those grapplers, “Is my nose bleeding?”

While the innards of my nose remained unharmed, Stew’s door did scratch my nose on the outside, leaving a horizontal mark reminiscent of a white line I used to get across my nose. (What was that, a sun-reaction pigmentation thing?) The whole nose was sort of pink from the trauma, so the scratch wasn’t too noticeable on Tuesday, but it seems to be getting more prominent by the day. This morning after my shower, it bled for the first time. Two days later?

Let’s see, what else weird happened on Tuesday … Oh yeah, my jumprope broke, spewing cylindrical plastic beads all over the studio. A classmate asked me if I was OK, and I realized only later that he must have thought the nose scratch was caused by a jumprope bead smacking me in the face.

I ask you, who else does this crap happen to? Remember when I whacked my head on the wall while moving out of my apartment?