Okay, you know that I’m the kind of badass that makes Chuck Norris look like a japanese school girl skipping home after a tiring day at school drawing pikachu over and over again. But then there are things in this world that can make even me screw up my face in terror. Last week I came face to face with such a terror.
It was vicious. It was menacing. It was a finely tuned killing machine intent on my destruction. I came out of the encounter just barely alive enough to sing “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldierrrrhhh” while stumbling away. Last week I met the spawn of the devil. The kind of thing that spends its free time outside primary schools, luring little kids in with toys and candy, then teaching them to listen to Justin Beiber. It was a terrible beast.
It was a mop.
Well a mop handle. And it had this plastic ring-thing on top that made it extra sharp.
See, this is what happened:
I race into the bathroom to shave. I’m in a hurry. I drop the shaving cream. I knock over the mop leaning against the wall trying to pick up the shaving cream.
I pick up the mop, throw it against the wall.
I bend down to pick up the shaving cream again.
*cue dramatic violin music*
As I’m on my merry way down, I see the mop rebounding off the wall, and heading back towards me, out of the corner of my eye.
Have you ever tried stopping in the middle of an almost automated action like that? It’s impossible. Like getting a woman to be logical. It should be called the Logic chromosome, not the Y chromosome.
But back to our story.
To my slow-motion dismay I notice that my face is traveling on the perfect vector to intercept the mop handle.
*dramatic violin music reaches crescendo*
And it does. The mop handle, pivoting on its base, has rotated just so that its pointy top is right under my face, and my vertically traveling face impales itself on the handle. Right below the left eye. Ouch.
*cue clatter of pots, pans, galaxies and entire universes banging against each other*
Thankfully it just gave me a bruise under my eye for a day, which affected me only in that people on the bus kept staring at my face. Even hobos turned to look at me. I had forgotten to shave that day too, meaning I probably looked like a homeless rapist or something.
And now it’s just slight evidence of a cut under my eye. Most of it has gone the way of the dodo, or most twitter users’ sanity.