Monday, June 05, 2006
*Sock!* *Biff!* *Pow!*
I always thought that being the youngest member and partial mistake of my family (my mom really was only planning on having one more of her spawn born) made my childhood a little difficult. It was rife with such cruel acts as name-calling and being left out of all the fun games because I was "too wussy," not to mention having my beloved stuffed animals stolen and mutilated on a daily basis. These crimes, committed at the hands of my three dear siblings, have made me no stranger to long-term emotional abuse, but it seems I now have to cope with their physical abuse as well.
This past Saturday, my family and some friends went to Vintage Chophouse, one of our favourite restaurants to hit on special occasions. There were twelve of us in all celebrating two birthdays, so it was indeed a special occasion and we want to make sure it felt that way. Through the course of the night, we ordered two bottles of champagne, four or so bottles of wine, a bottle of sauternes, roughly half a keg of beer, two Long Island iced teas, one spritzer, several unidentified drinks that had Coke in them, and one shot of Crown Royal. In short, anyone who wasn't driving got thoroughly drunk and had a laughy-daffy time. When 11:30 rolled around and it was time to leave, we said our good-byes and stumbled down the street to our respective cars. Nockle was seated next to me in my parents' truck and was the drunkest member in the vehicle. About halfway down McLeod Trail, she decided it would be fun to poke me in the ribs incessantly. Despite being fairly intoxicated myself, (those two Long Islands were mine, along with half a bottle of wine and some other things) I gave her fair warning that if she poked me just one more time, I'd slap her in the face.
Well, duh. Of course she poked me. I meant to provoke her!
True to my word, I gave the gentlest tap just with the tips of my fingers. I'm not even exaggerating, really. We were hammed, but I didn't actually want to hurt her or anything. So I just touched the side of her cheek and left it at that. A moment later, I saw a bright flash of light in my left eye, accompanied by a rather sharp pain and a very startled yelp. Nockle had swung her purse around in retaliation for my little slap and wailed my left eye, dead center. Realizing she'd hurt me quite a bit more than she intended to, she apologised right away, but full forgiveness didn't come until she told me she'd actually been aiming for my stomach. I mean, come one. You have to forgive a person who's so drunk she can swing her purse six inches and miss her mark by two feet. Besides, she owed me a little pain from a few years back when I gave her a sizable boot in the stomach. We're even now.
The damage isn't all that bad. My eye got pretty swollen during the rest of the drive home and bruised a little, but I can still keep it open and everything. I didn't even remember about it the next morning until I washed my face in the shower and it hurt to rub the soap over my eyes. When I looked at it in the mirror, I saw that she'd actually given me a wee little cut, but it's right in the crease, so people can't even see it unless I've got my eyes closed. The one downside is that I can't wear eyeshadow or liner before it heals up (I'll always wear mascara regardless of the state of my eyeballs) but it's a small price to pay for having something interesting to say when someone asks me what I did this weekend.
"I got a nice shiner from my own sister. You?"
This past Saturday, my family and some friends went to Vintage Chophouse, one of our favourite restaurants to hit on special occasions. There were twelve of us in all celebrating two birthdays, so it was indeed a special occasion and we want to make sure it felt that way. Through the course of the night, we ordered two bottles of champagne, four or so bottles of wine, a bottle of sauternes, roughly half a keg of beer, two Long Island iced teas, one spritzer, several unidentified drinks that had Coke in them, and one shot of Crown Royal. In short, anyone who wasn't driving got thoroughly drunk and had a laughy-daffy time. When 11:30 rolled around and it was time to leave, we said our good-byes and stumbled down the street to our respective cars. Nockle was seated next to me in my parents' truck and was the drunkest member in the vehicle. About halfway down McLeod Trail, she decided it would be fun to poke me in the ribs incessantly. Despite being fairly intoxicated myself, (those two Long Islands were mine, along with half a bottle of wine and some other things) I gave her fair warning that if she poked me just one more time, I'd slap her in the face.
Well, duh. Of course she poked me. I meant to provoke her!
True to my word, I gave the gentlest tap just with the tips of my fingers. I'm not even exaggerating, really. We were hammed, but I didn't actually want to hurt her or anything. So I just touched the side of her cheek and left it at that. A moment later, I saw a bright flash of light in my left eye, accompanied by a rather sharp pain and a very startled yelp. Nockle had swung her purse around in retaliation for my little slap and wailed my left eye, dead center. Realizing she'd hurt me quite a bit more than she intended to, she apologised right away, but full forgiveness didn't come until she told me she'd actually been aiming for my stomach. I mean, come one. You have to forgive a person who's so drunk she can swing her purse six inches and miss her mark by two feet. Besides, she owed me a little pain from a few years back when I gave her a sizable boot in the stomach. We're even now.
The damage isn't all that bad. My eye got pretty swollen during the rest of the drive home and bruised a little, but I can still keep it open and everything. I didn't even remember about it the next morning until I washed my face in the shower and it hurt to rub the soap over my eyes. When I looked at it in the mirror, I saw that she'd actually given me a wee little cut, but it's right in the crease, so people can't even see it unless I've got my eyes closed. The one downside is that I can't wear eyeshadow or liner before it heals up (I'll always wear mascara regardless of the state of my eyeballs) but it's a small price to pay for having something interesting to say when someone asks me what I did this weekend.
"I got a nice shiner from my own sister. You?"
