I hurt myself yesterday putting on on chapstick. I was mashing my lips together the way that you do to to get it all spread evenly and my jaw made a popping sound and I couldn’t open my mouth wide for the rest of the day.
Which got me thinking, why do I hurt myself on inanimate objects so much? Case in point:
- The Immovable Door
In high school I played Ophelia (to much acclaim… thank you… thank you…) and had to run all crazy-like through a door offstage. Being a dedicated thespian, I took off at a full-on sprint, wind whistling through my hair as I made my dramatic exit. The door, on the other hand, was not into Method Acting and remained solidly, immovably closed. I somehow wound up with a black eye and had to explain to people for a week that I got in a fist fight with a door.
- Mood Lighting
It had been a long day, and I had the apartment to myself. So, like anyone would, I put on some jazz, poured myself a glass of wine, and put lit candles everywhere. I noticed that one on the dresser was kind of precarious looking, and being responsible about fire safety I walked over to put it out… ignoring the candle on the bookshelf next to it. Perched precisely at head level. I managed to put out the head-fire without hurting myself, but I smelled like burned hair every time I took a shower for a month.
I was entertaining my boyfriend on my bed (not like that weirdo, we were just talking) and I tried to strike a pose that was both nonchalant and sexy, in that not-trying-too-hard manner I’ve worked so hard to perfect over the years. Which is how I learned that if you put your entire body weight on your shoulder at juuuuuuuuuuust the right angle you can mildly dislocate it. I had to wear scarves refashioned as slings for a week, and to this day have a certain terror of nonchalant sexiness.
I’m honestly not sure what all these anecdotes say about me, but it does go to show that even if my husband successfully covers all the pointy things in the apartment with bubble wrap I will find a way to hurt myself.