Okay, so here’s the rub: I may have gotten a broken nose in a scrape once, but I can’t be sure. I do know that I did break it for sure in a most unusual and embarrassing (sounds juicy, eh?) way. Pull up a chair, get some dark roasted coffee (oh, how about a piece of Grandmasdark chocolate?) and let Uncle Rob tell the unfortunate tale of how a straight nose became not so straight. I was sitting on the toilet . . . wait, I have a disclaimer: The retelling of said events may be a little (a lot) gross at times. You may not want to go on any further if the thought of someone emptying a huge bacon cheddar burger through an orifice in record time causes the pre-vomit saliva to pool in your mouth. You may want to fight through it, though. It may build up tolerance. Just sayin’.
So anyway, I was sitting on the toilet . . . wait, I should probably develop the story a bit. Writers class 101. Develop story. Develop story. Okay, here’s me trying to develop. My wife makes beautiful pottery. She’s been throwing down and on the wheel for about 10 years. Anything you practice for 10 years, you’re bound to get a knack for :). Well, on this dark, dark, night in the history of my nose, my wife was to be selling her wares at an art show. Oh, I should mention here that I wasn’t feeling particularly well. A slight fever, a little queasy. Nothing major. (By the way, don’t you hate it when someone is telling a joke, and it’s really good, but they keep saying, “Oh, I forgot to mention . . . ?” me, too :))
The car needed to be loaded.
This part of the story may differ a bit depending on whom you ask (my wife or I).
As I remember it, even though I was on the verge of death, I bolted off the couch to help my wife with the process of loading the car. Her version: “Honey, can you give me a hand loading up? Quit faking! You are going to school today (or, was that Mom?)”. Either way, the car got loaded and off we went.
After setting up shop I had a couple of hours to burn. Being a manly-man, I decided I wasn’t really under the weather after all, I was just hungry :). On rare occasions I will stuff my face with bunk. This was a bunk occasion. I hit a Red Robin (if you’re not familiar . . . just a fancier, pricier, hamburger joint). I ordered a HUGE Bacon Cheddar burger with a coke. Nothing goes quite as well with an upset stomach as seasoned fries. So I got those, too. I finished every bite, leaving nothing to chance. The craziest thing is that I felt worse than before and thought it must have been the food! Anyhow, feeling worse than before it was now time to pick up the wife. We get home and I fall into the well-pillowed couch and enter dreamland. I awake a couple of hours later. I had the immediate and quite serious task of making it to the bathroom before my family would disown me. You see, the insides were bent on coming out one way or another (one end or another). I made it to the toilet and sat with a sigh of relief and waited. Nothing. Still nothing. It’s okay at this point if you take an intermission. Grab a bite. Use the bathroom. 😉
. . . I’m not sure how long I sat there. Believe me, there was adequate desire to get this thing done. The next thing I recall is that my wife is standing over me in the bathroom patting me on the back, “You fell, you’re bleeding. I’m calling an ambulance.” My testosterone quickly answered, “I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance. Help me to the couch.” I won and no ambulance was called.
Piecing together the events:
- Felt under weather, helped wife, ate a huge bacon cheddar burger with two cokes (and seasoned fries:), pick up wife, fall into couch.
- Later, wife says I walked ‘unusually loud’ to the bathroom.
- Wife hears a loud thump from bathroom.
- Wife finds me passed out on bathroom floor with pants and boxers at ankles, butt in the air, hands at side, facedown, blood on floor . . . oh, the splendor of it all! (I think I was looking for water buffaloes!)
- Wife wakes me . . . bleeding . . . ambulance . . . testosterone.
- Cut and broken nose, cut forehead . . . unwillingness of body to eject foreign entities.
- Willingness of body to eject foreign entities! Eureka!
- We realize after, that I passed out and hit my nose on the corner of our Jacuzzi tub and then fell to the floor.
- Broken nose.
As a youngster I was told that scars were character marks. A broken nose must be laden with character. So, I never had it straightened.
I’m not sure what I had. I haven’t passed out since, though.
There must be a motivational twist here . . . hmm, let me think . . . okay, if you have a crooked nose, just tell folks you are laden with character.