Wacked in the head (twice)

I think I am in one of those dread periods where I am just a little too busy, so I have a tendency to hurt myself. Last Monday, I got up early to fold laundry, spent 40 minutes searching for some basketball tickets that I had ordered, and was pretty sure had been delivered, but I could not find anywhere. In a hurry, in the basement I dropped a sock, and bending down to pick it up wacked myself a good one on the forehead, using the table where the laundry baskets sit as a weapon.

Today, Sunday, I stopped in at the eastside Woodmans, the huge warehouse grocery store, for fizzy water (horrifying enough on a Sunday afternoon) - I was on my way back from Milwaukee, and my normal, closer to home grocery store had been out of the fizzy water we like this morning - and I wacked my head again on the trunk lid of the Beetle.

My forehead (and my brother's too for that matter) received many childhood wackings, beginning with my earliest memory when my parents conspired to disfigure me for life - I was about 3, my mom stopped the car suddenly and I flew up and got my face all cut up on a pipe rack my dad had installed on the dash. A few years later, I had to start the third grade with glasses and a big bandage on my forehead, because my brother wacked me in the head with the lid of tin of cookies we were coming back to Pittsburgh with, from our grandmother's in Cincinnati. 'Course I could be looked at as even more responsible for the scarring on his forehead, which looks almost as lightning-y as Harry Potter's. I dared him to stand with one foot on each edge of the bathtub, and he being just a little smaller than me at that point in ur lives, fell in and wacked his head open on the faucet - my mother says she found the two of us minutes later bathing in a tub of blood. Then a few weeks after that, I pushed him into one of the marble windowsills in our house in Pittsburgh, and opened it up again.