“Everything is funny as long as it is happening to someone else.” Will Rogers.
My ball was thirty yards from the cup, but it had a steep uphill, sidehill lie. I hit my pitch—not surprisingly for me, not very well. I turned to return to the golf cart five yards away, but my foot caught the uphill grass. I knew instantly that I was about to plant my face on the downhill turf without being able to break the fall.
Tony, my playing partner, came over to assist me, but I got up more easily than I expected. I took stock. My nose was not broken. Blood was not gushing from the nostrils, as I had expected. I apparently had landed on the bottom of my forehead, not the middle of my face. My glasses had slightly gouged the space between my eyebrows and pushed hard into my cheeks right below my eyes. No blood poured off me but seeped from the gouged place and from a cut on my lip, but overall, I did not feel terrible. No major aches and pains. We continued on with our nine holes with me dabbing at the oozing blood with a golf towel that by happenstance had been freshly laundered.
I bailed on my usual lunch with Tony after golf and headed home. The spouse looked up from her reading as I stepped on the porch, and after explanations, she swung into nursing mode. Band-Aids, gauze, and adhesive tape were applied. She went to CVS to get more supplies, and I got additional medical attention. I looked in the mirror and so much had been applied to my face, I looked like Hannibal Lecter. Eventually, the seeping blood stopped.
The next day I carefully removed the dressings and decided not all had to be reapplied. I went to the mirror to assess. No pretty boy looks were in attendance. I had that gouge between the eyebrows. My nose was discolored and even more bulbous than usual, as if I had lifted it from W.C. Fields. I had a cut lip and a black and blue mark bruise on my chin. Most noticeable, however, were two black eyes with a significant mouse below the left one as if I had been hit with a heavyweight hook in the second round. There was no way to hide my racoon face except with a ski mask, which was not seasonally appropriate.
People were going to ask what happened. When that first happened, I said, “Don’t ask, but you should see her.” Then I tried, “The Pennsylvania barmaids are really fierce.” And then, “Next time I will give Tony the three-and-a-half-foot putt.” (I am convinced that three-and-a-half is funnier than three-foot or four-foot, but I don’t know why.) However, I am on blood thinners, and I will have the discolorations for a long time. I will be needing some more snappy come-backs.
