My most recent self-inflicted injury.

I have a habit of doing moronic things in order to cause myself bodily harm. I have decided that this will be a regular addition to my blog. The last time I made an injury public knowledge was my chest wound that I received while working. It was fairly humorous (after a few days when the pain had subsided).

So, without further ado, the following is the tale of my newest injury. The story that will unfold before you will explain the roughly 3 inch long scabbed scrape on my upper left thigh. It is not a story for the faint of heart and I am not responsible if you are unable to sleep for weeks to come.

It was yesterday, Friday, June 6th. I was in the process of readying myself for work. It was approximately 3:30 in the morning. I had been out of the shower for about 30 minutes, and was in the process of applying my mask of beauty products to my face in order to make it "TV ready". I decided I needed to make use of the toilet. As I sit there, half asleep, staring at the floor, I realize that I am not alone. Out of nowhere, a fierce warrior with approximately 15 pairs of legs charges me at an incredible rate of speed. I am sure that he plans to harm me in some way, and decide to hurriedly get out of his path. I don't know where to go, or how to get there, all I know is that I need to DO IT NOW! I rise from my seated position as quickly as I can and make a mad dash for the door. As I do, I get a sharp stabbing pain on my left side, as my flesh is raked across the corner edge of my bathroom counter covered with 1976-fabulous brown mini-tile. I run out of the room and down the hall to the bedroom and "master" (3/4 closet of a bathroom) bath, where I can use the mirror and assess my injury.

I feel like I have left a piece of myself in the other bathroom. My upper left thigh is throbbing in pain, and is now blessed with a 3-4inch red, swollen, pinpoint bleeding gash. I am breathing heavy and know fully awake.

I don't want to, but I know I must confront my assailant. I am not done applying my make-up, and that is a must before going in to work. I decide to sneak, ninja-like, back into the other bathroom, armed with the first thing that I picked up; Matt's size 10 Kenneth-Cole dress shoe. I creep down the hallway and peek through the door. I see my nemesis resting calmly on the floor after his full frontal assault. He does not appear to be moving, but I know he will once he detects my presence.

I spring into action, blinded by fear and rage. I hit him once over the head and he falters, but begins flailing his appendages in my direction. I swing my weapon again at him and connect with his midsection. He appears to slow and is obviously dazed. I clamp my eyes shut and swing twice more, directing a fatal blow. The fight is over, and I reign supreme. He lays on the floor, broken and defeated. I am too disgusted to pick him up and dispose of his remains, so I throw 2 white sheets over him, and decide that Matt can deal with the carnage when he wakes up.

Who was this many-legged assailant you might ask? The one who caused such a disturbance to my regular morning routine? The one who attacked at first with such speed and cunning that I didn't even see him coming? Well, I did some research and found out that he, and others like him make regular appearances in other households across the nation. No doubt causing just as much trouble as he had in my home. I found a picture of one of his captured buddies...



Sick me out. Its like Indiana Jones' Temple of Doom all over again! I can't even look him in his beady little eyes. I am on my way to get a dehumidifier as we speak, because apparently, they thrive in dark, humid places. Thanks a lot summer, for bringing humidity with you. You undoubtedly are responsible for me almost meeting my demise.