I must admit that I feel slightly guilty about my last post. No, that's not right. I feel slightly worried people will just think I'm a giant ass who uses a child's physical pain to her own benefit. See? Honesty.
The truth is that I feel (slightly) justified at my capitalizing. You know when you say or do something stupid and your friends tease you and ask, "Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" Well, my answer is, "Yes, in fact I was." This response is usually followed by averted eyes and snorts of disbelief, which fade into an uncomfortable silence as they think to themselves, Well that explains the whole eating off the floor deal. No. It does not explain the whole eating off the floor deal. What explains the whole eating off the floor deal is that sometimes I'm just really hungry because I have a fast metabolism and the floor's usually clean anyway and if I happen to drop something, what's wrong with picking it right back up and eating it?
Yes, I was dropped on my head as a baby and I'm not going to say it's better than it sounds because it's actually worse than it sounds. I believe the word "flung" is more accurate. See, my dad liked to play this game with me where he would hold me by the ankles and spin me around and around like a propeller. Yeah, it's all fun and games until your two year-old goes flying head first into the piano. And that's exactly what happened. The velocity that had built up from my spinning (take that, junior year physics!) caused my darling father (hey Dad! OMG, shout out!) to loose his grip and I went shooting off into orbit. I have a very vague memory of coming to on the couch with my mother's face an inch from mine.
"Oh, oh! She's waking up," she was saying into the phone. "Yes, doctor, her eyes do look a little dilated."
Long story short, I went to the emergency room, got checked out, and everything was fine.
A few years later, I was at a park with my older brother playing on the merry-go-round. My hand must have slipped from the rail because the next thing I knew I was waking up on the sidewalk with my brother leaning over me."
"Oh, oh! She's waking up," he was saying to the gathering circle of kids. "You better not tell Mom or I'll kill you."
It's these childhood moments that make me feel justified to finding humor in, say, a kid running into a metal parking permit dispenser. And I'm sure there's probably more, I just - for some reason - can't remember.