The Curse of the Lame Black Eye Stories

Just once I would like to get a black eye and have an AMAZING story to go along with it. Something like, I was attacked by crazed black bears looking for honey or I was assaulted by ninja kitties high on the nip. (Obviously my ideas of an amazing story and your ideas of an amazing story may differ). But no, I’m never that lucky!

My first black eye happened last summer by a purse… a plastic frog purse… thrown by a 5-year-old… SERIOUSLY that kid had an arm, I wanted her tested for roids! Lucky for her, she was the daughter of a friend so she lived to see another day.


So there you go embarrassing black eye number one.

Now number two is a little better as it doesn’t involve children or their stupid child accessories. I was playing softball (aahhh see better already, sport accident very manly). But the team we were going to play had to forfeit, not enough people, and we decided to just have a “fun” scrimmage game. So now instead of being serious hard-core players, we start fooling around.

PEOPLE do not fool around when metal sticks and hard balls the size of your face are involved!!!

So Rich (yes, my one and only beer of the month club member, Rich) is up to bat and I’m catching. He hits a beautiful pop fly straight up, that thing hung in the air for like an hour and I’m screaming “OH I GOT IT! THIS BABY IS MINE! YOU’RE SO OUT RICH! GOT IT! GOT IT! MINE! MINE! MINE!”.

Now you’re thinking easy out right?… right?!? Um no.

I’m holding up my mitt waiting for this thing to finally descend when I realize I’m not really under it, I’m too far back. I quickly run forward with mitt extended to grab it, but I JUST miss.

And now you’re thinking I just missed it and it smacked me in face right?… right?!? Um no.

It lands just in front of me but then does the craziest, meanest bounce back up with a possessed back spin that rams it right into my eye… owey.


BUT I’m proud to say I didn’t cry… can’t say the same for Rich. Because unlike my first lame black eye this one had blood… A LOT of blood. I was like a little Mona fountain of blood. People were screaming, panicking, running around and bouncing off each other in attempts to get away from the horror. Rich is screaming for ice. “ICE, WE NEED ICE, WHERE THE HELL IS THERE ICE! MY GOD I’VE KILLED HER!!!”

I’m proud to say during all of this I was a rock, no tears, no whining, calm as a cucumber. Because through all the craziness the same thought just kept running through my head… “Thank god it wasn’t a fucking purse!”

About But That's For Another Blog

Wifey, Blogger,Dog Mom, Huge Nerd, and One Hellofafriend! (Seriously, I have references). SHINY!!
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4 Responses to The Curse of the Lame Black Eye Stories

  1. I’ll take that advice about the metal sticks and hard balls the size of your face.
    Hey, I got one for ya! If a chick that you don’t get along with ever meets you at the door of a small, cramped women’s potty-for-one in the bar and asks you if the two of you can talk, either don’t let her in, or don’t make the mistake of sitting on the back of the toilet while you talk so she has room. I did. Big mistake! She started asking me if I had said something about her to someone else, I didn’t like the way she asked, told her “So what if I had!”–even though I hadn’t–she walloped me, I slid off the top of the toilet, wedged on the floor between it and the wall, and couldn’t move my arms. Funny as hell now that I think about it, but at the time it was a mess. I moved around so much trying to get free I literally pulled the toilet out of the floor and flooded the bathroom. Wore a shiner the size of Colorado after that. Funny thing is, we became friends after. Go figure, huh? Jack Daniels, enemies, and cramped potties don’t mix!!

  2. Doesn’t calm as a cucumber also mean numb with disbelief. 🙂 Sounds quite painful.

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