Boot to the head
As on most Wednesdays, we went to communal dinner tonight. Mark and Megan put their little girl, Mirabelle to work, cooking a tasty lasagna meal. That kid is amazing: in under twenty two days of life-not-attached-to-mom, she's managed to learn how to sit up, nearly how to walk, track people, manipulate her parents and cook an amazing lasagna dish. If you ever wonder why I don't want kids, look at that Smith kid and know that any kid of mine could never compare.
The evening conversion oddly enough, turned to broken bones. Kris commented that Doyle had on video a particularly bad layout where he landed on the disc and jammed the rim into his ribs. He crawled off the field, and all of it was caught on video. Mark commented he had broken a rib once, then continued that the last bone he thinks he broke was his face from when I kicked him. He continued that his face was sore for about two months after the kicking. He noticed it especially after pressing on one side of his face for a longish period of time (where longish equals an hour or so).
When he told the story I stopped what I was doing, mortified. Sure, sure, it was entertaining at the time, and yes, this waiver and that disclaimer, but, dude, I physically injured someone. It was funny at the time, yes, the story is still funny, and, yes, I laughed with everyone tonight.
But part if me is more than a little shocked. I hadn't realized.