That’s Quite a Shiner.

Yesterday D gave me a black eye. When I text messaged him this morning to let him know he had done so, he wrote back, “Are you serious? I’m so sorry,” and after I told him he did indeed, and that it doesn’t hurt (much) — it just looks bad — I’m sure he went off to tell his friends that he gave his girlfriend a black eye.

Never one to get into fights as a young child, I have only had a black eye two other times in my life. Once, as a little girl, I fell off my bike, and I think I hit the handle or something. This is only a vague remembrance. My brother, incidentally, had a similar accident the same week, and Mom refused to take us anywhere because she was afraid people would think she was abusive.

Also, as my only act of rebellion in my entire life, I got my eyebrow pierced my freshman year of college. I had a black eye from that for about a week. And it really wasn’t an act of rebellion or anything that serious or sinister. I just wanted one.

This black eye was a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I went down to D’s place yesterday to spend my Saturday with him, and we were cuddling. He reached down to the floor to grab something — maybe his phone? I don’t remember — and when he sat back up, his elbow was out, and it hit my eye. I said, “Ouch,” because it hurt, and he apologized and asked if I was okay, and I said, “Oh, it’s fine,” but then I woke up this morning with a huge eye booger in the corner of my eye. Apparently the injury caused my tear duct to work overtime. The mirror shows an angry, red eyeball and a small purplish bruise beneath my eye. You can’t really tell unless you look at it closely, but that will probably change tomorrow. If it looks any shinier, I promise to post pictures.

I’m going to tell everyone that I got it defending my boyfriend’s honor.