See, I was cleaning up the apartment with my other roommates. Just de-boxing boxes, packing away the last of the dishes, vacuuming the carpet. And I thought I'd get the broom. Be real thorough about it.
I skipped down the hall, humming a little Guys and Dolls under my breath. But I paused when I reached the back storage room, looking around for a broom. The light was on and I fumbled with the stuff, shuffling around some boxes to reveal a stack of broom-like items. Long sticks, you know. I reached through the tangled handles, grasping what I was sure was the correct tool. I pulled at it, starting to sing again. And then something hit me in the face.
Before I even realized what had happened, I was blinking and balking and sputtering. And then I started tearing up inexplicably in one eye. I reared back to figure out what was happening, and then I got it.
In one hand, I was grasping the handle of the broom halfway down. And in my enthusiastic excitement, I had yanked it forward only to forget that, yes, that top part had to swing up with it. Right into my eye.
Like deep in, too. I mean, the little demon inside me literally thrust the handle into my right eye socket and spun it around a little, just for a few laughs.
No, it was really my fault. I really, honestly, literally did not see that coming. I don't know how, but it was invisible to me. That is, until it was suddenly pushing in my eyeball stretching towards the back of my head.
It hurt. A lot. And I don't know how my eye survived, because it felt like it squeezed my eye all the way back to my brain. But I assure you it's still intact. Even my contact went unscathed.
Honestly, I was a little more than scared
that it would have somehow seared to my eye
and that when I tried to take it out at night,
I would peel my iris out with it.
bleh.But then I couldn't stop laughing at myself. And shaking my head and mumbling to myself. And wiping at the tears and the runny mascara. And worrying/hoping that I would get a black eye, already preparing an entirely different war story to share if that were the case. And then I wondered if maybe I could laugh over it with my roommates, bond over my klutzy, self-mutilating behavior. But I didn't want to embarrass myself.
No; instead, I post it here for all the world to read how I, Shelby Anne Boyer, punched myself in the face. Because, yeah, that really happened.