I was assaulted by a closet door today. Vicious son of a bitch. No, really. It hammered me. Hard.
Like if I were ever to partake in a brawl, I can only dream that I may evoke such force on my arch nemesis.
There is hope, I suppose, seeing as it was my own strength that propelled it. A simple drop of a vest in the closet (on the floor because why would I ever take the time to hang anything) while turning my head to answer Kaya and simultaneously backing out, closing the door at the same time. Not rocket science. Not even a Fisher Price 3+ rocket. Sigh.
Then BAM. Closet door meet bridge of my nose. Like a crash test dummy meets the windshield. Poor crash test dummy. Poor me.
“SON OF A …” Screamed.
“Why you say sonofa mommy?” Questioned.
“son of a …” Whispered amongst tears.
Tears are flowing, nose is growing, please no black eye I am hoping.
No black eye. Only red, swollen nose and a doozy of a headache. Oh, and then there’s that deflated ego.
Poor shriveled, shrunken ego.