Head Banger

Cinderella told you years ago You Don’t Know What You’ve Got (Till It’s Gone.) A few days without a blog post from yours truly and you realized just how right they were, huh? I haven’t been feeling well. I suffered a head injury while refinishing kitchen cabinets. (That happens a lot, right? Sometimes? No?) I am attempting to update our 1980’s kitchen. I loathe home builders from that decade.

I applied the wax sealer like the Karate kid on amphetamines. I was buffing the hell out of a built in desk when I nailed my head on a corner cabinet. I didn’t just bump it. I nearly knocked myself out. (cue: Laverne & Shirley theme song) I dropped the waxing cloth and stumbled toward the stairs. In between moans I hollered to my family for help. My husband rushed down the stairs and grabbed an ice pack as the bump on my head grew to the size of a golf ball. My 14-year-old son came downstairs to check on me to eat dessert. He was nice enough to ask how I was doing before he took the first bite of a cupcake. Meanwhile, my husband used a flashlight app to check my pupils. This exam concerned my teenage son. “If Mom is sick does that mean we can’t go on vacation?” Aren’t kids just so selfless? Yes, the beach may have to wait if Mom has a traumatic brain injury.

I am a bit of a hypochondriac. So, I texted one of my best friends. If something happened to me she had to promise three things. First, make sure to finish these damn cabinets. Second, she needed to track down the girl who bullied me in high school and punch her. Finally, and most importantly, she had to make sure my kids go on that damn vacation.

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