My Badge of Pain

On Saturday night, My Intended and I were out at a progressive dinner. While I was progressing to eat 150,000 calories, the snow and ice were also progressing. While the roads weren't really bad at all on the way to the first house, the storm picked up considerably while we were there.

As we were going to the final house, I noticed that everyone else could drive faster than me in the snowy-icy conditions. That's normal with my rear-wheel drive pickup truck, of course, but I have weight in the back so I thought it should be better.

My Intended mentioned that the problem could be the weight distribution. She had a point. Because I've been moving all my old friends out of my house, I've moved the sand bags to the very front of the bed to make room. Without them centered above the wheel mounts, the weight wasn't helping much.

So, when we arrived to the final house for dessert (shout out to loyal reader Megan!), I told My Intended to go inside while I arranged the weight bags. Well, what happened after that no one knew.

The back of my truck bed has a hard fiberglass lid on it. It easy lifts up--and normally stays up. But with a couple inches of ice and snow, it was very heavy. Wile I could lift it up, it wouldn't stay open on its own. Instead of doing the smart thing of finding someone to hold the lid open for me, I lifted the lid enough to get the tailgate down, lowered the lid and crawled in. I can do it myself!

Imagine with me, if you will: It's dark. The truck bed is filled with bags of Goodwill clothes and other boxes. The lid is down. And I am crawling around on my belly with about a foot-and-a-half clearance. While tugging 50-pound bags to the center of the truck.

It actually all went pretty well. When I was ready to get out, I noticed that I could kind of crawl out--and push the bed lid up with my back. This was easier that slithering backward. It was also stupid. As I was about the get out, I lost hold of the ice-covered and heavy lid being supported by my back. It slammed down on the back of my head--and knocked my forehead into a hard plastic crate I use to haul stuff.

At first, I was sure I had a concussion. I kind of stumbled around a bit in the snow. Neighbors probably gathered at their warm windows to watch the clumsy drunk man cavorting in the snow. Eventually, I pulled myself together and went inside. I am pretty sure that I was a little "slow" once I got inside. I just stayed quiet and when I tried to have conversations, I am pretty sure some of my sentences didn't make much sense.

A little while later, I had a little red mark on my forehead as a badge of stupidity. My Intended called it my Harry Potter scar. That was pretty accurate--it was shaped like the corner of the box I landed on so had a bit of a zig-zag effect to it. My mark is gone now. And it's too bad because it would tingle when I was around Voldemort.

But anyway, the good news about the story is that I took the blow to the head--where not much further damage can really be done.