This morning I whacked my head really hard on the sink. I won’t go into a play-by-play of the dramatic event but let it be known it was done in the name of styling my hair. Seriously, don’t try to think about HOW or WHY…it will just mess with you.
Of course I went into EXTREME PANIC because the first thing I thought of was head injury. Ed could hear the great THWACK sound of my skull hitting porcelain and asked if I was OK.
“I don’t know. I think so. Everything is blurry because I don’t have my contacts in, but I think I’m OK. What if I have a Natasha Richardson head injury and die later today?”
“You’re not going to die. I’ll keep an eye on you today. Let me know if you feel sick.”
“OK. Just take me to the hospital if I start acting weird or can’t stand up or something.”
“I think you’re OK. You’re no less coherent than usual.”
“OH THANK YOU. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“You know what I mean. You’re very coherent for this early in the morning before coffee and food.”
“Whatever. I’m having a mimosa at breakfast. Fuck the concussion.”