...everyone assumes you were in a fight?
I took a spill last week thanks to some poorly placed gravel and nature's nasty bit of treachery known to most as "gravity." As a result I have a rather large scratch on the upper portion of my left cheekbone, right below the eye socket. It does look a bit like the kind of thing a fist can do to the human face, but any solid object can do this to the human face.
Funny then that everyone who sees it immediately wants to know who I was battling. The questions almost never begin with "what happened?" but "who happened?" instead. Simply telling people that I slipped on some gravel is correct, but not much fun. I like to tell the truth, however, but as more people ask me about my marred mug, I've been taking a little longer to get to the truth. So far the story has become:
"I was sitting at home minding my own business when I heard someone knock at my front door. Lacking a peephole to look out of, I couldn't know that standing on the other side were viking invaders. Of course as soon as I opened the door they attacked, but I instantly counter-attacked and forced them into retreat down the stairwell. Standing at the bottom however were all of the members of MS-13, who didn't take kindly to my treatment of their Nordic friends. So I began battling them also, which went on for hours. It seemed to be ending when Hugo Chavez landed with thousands of AK-47 toting citizens of his so-called "revolución" intent on nationalizing my condo, so I sighed and began dispatching them, too (and for good measure, I nationalized Citgo). Then, just as the last enemy fell, the battle was won and I had nary a scratch on me, I stepped on some gravel, slipped, and whacked my face against the ground."
So far everyone has laughed, but I'm waiting for that one person who will ask where I hid the bodies.
That's when I get to put my index finger to my lips, go "shhhhh!", wink, smile, and walk off.
Sorry, I'm not telling.
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