The story of my black eye

You think you’ve heard this story before…don’t you?  How else does a woman get a black eye?  I’m going to tell you two versions of the story, one of which actually happened and is too wild to be fabricated.  The other, well, the other is just funny.  For me, not for anyone else that it actually happens to.  But I digress in my fear of offending others.  Words are funny that way.

Read carefully, because this is the MOST important part of the story, the hook, if you will.


My husband was chasing me with a chainsaw.


I know, I know, now you’re freaking out because you think you know how the story ends, but bear with me.  


So here I was, running from Jon because he was chasing me with a chainsaw.  I wasn’t scared of him, not at that time, anyway.  The night was black as pitch and screams rang out from the woods that surrounded us.  I could hear his breathing over the dull roar of the idling chainsaw.  The run was wearing him out.  


The screams were getting closer.  We didn’t have much time.  By an unconscious decision, we pressed forward, legs pumping, the chainsaw flailing wildly.  Jon let out a menacing laugh.  Of course he did, he was having the time of his life.  Scaring the hell out of people could quite possibly be his favorite pastime.  


What happened next was like something out of a cartoon.  If you don’t believe me, try it out.  Though I recommend that you take it at a slower clip, or else end up decapitated.  Okay, okay, almost decapitated.  That’s right.  Beheaded, as in your head bouncing around by your feet like a kickball.  Now you have a mental picture, right?  Wow.  Your imagination sickens me.  


So back to the running and the heavy breathing and the flailing chainsaw.  I saw Jon go down first, out of the corner of my eye.  It was so fast that I didn’t even realize what was happening.  One second he was up and the next it was like he hit a brick wall.  BAM!  On the ground.  The chainsaw skittered across the damp autumn ground and stalled.  


Before I could even process a thought, SMACK!!  Straight to the face.  Down I went, curled on the ground next to Jon.  


What the hell? I thought as I pressed my hands to my face, trying to keep my brains intact.  Was that a brick wall?  A baseball bat?  Whatever it was, it tried to take my head off and damn near succeeded.  I felt like I’d pounded my face repeatedly against a concrete sidewalk.  


Jon had now realized that I was wallowing on the ground next to him, hands holding my brains.  “Babe, are you okay?”  He tried to pull my arms down.  


“Am I okay?” I asked, unsure if I should move lest my brains fall out and plop on the ground in front of us.  


Gently, he pried my hands away.  There was a sharp intake of breath.  I took this to mean I was not okay.  


“Oh no!” I sobbed, “Not my beautiful, beautiful brains!” 

Okay, I didn’t really say that.  Jon informed me that I was bleeding and we probably needed to have someone look at that.  At this point, the story gets rather bland and involves things like ice packs and declarations of homeowners insurance and offers to pay medical bills…blah, blah, blah…

You do remember the most important part of the story, don’t you? 


My husband was chasing me with a chainsaw.


Why? Why?? I can almost hear you screaming at me now.  Why was he chasing you with the chainsaw?  I hate to take the mystery out of it now, but since I’m getting to the end, I suppose I have to tell you.  


We were working at a haunted trail.  Yes, I know, now you’re less excited about my almost horrific story.  The chainsaw didn’t even have a chain on it.  Boo! you say, boo for your lameness.  


And now you want to know what hit us, or rather, what we hit.  (This is totally going to ruin whatever cool my story had left.)  Have you ever hit a dog line at a flat out sprint?  You know, one of those things that people string across their back yard so their dogs can run back and forth and generally look like idiots?  That’s right, a dog line.  Straight to the face, or to the neck, if you were Jon.  


You’re waiting for the redemption, aren’t you?  The one thing I can tell you that brings the awesome back into my quaint little tale…  Wait no longer, here it is!!


Due to the nature of our injuries, Jon having an awesome scab and bruise across his throat, and me, with my cuts across my nose and black eyes, we totally looked like we’d been in a domestic dispute.  Of course, and due to the nature of our personalities, we flaunted this like it actually happened.  


At the grocery store, we’d lovingly tell the clerk that I strangled him and he punched me, all in a fit of rage.  I’d pull my sunglasses down (Yes, I wore sunglasses indoors, just like in the movies) and show them my shiner.  Then we’d kiss and grin at each other while the clerk looked on unsure if she should call the cops.  


It was glorious, for about two weeks, until the bruises faded, like they always do.  But alas, for those two weeks I didn’t have to wear makeup at the haunted trail, my wounds looked real enough to be, well, real.  Jon and I got to know what it was like to be ostracized for being in an abusive relationship and I had a really fun story to tell.  

And hey, even after punched me, we still made it to our first year anniversary.  We’re going five years strong.  Now that’s love.



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