Squiggle & I

So lemmie tell you about the (mostly healed, in this photograph) wound on my forehead. Kind of a funny story.

Last week The Queen and I rearranged the furniture in our bedroom, to make space for my new Craftsman 1470 pc. Professional Tool Set. (I like to store it all laid out like that, so I can easily find things.) As part of Operation Squabble (we cleverly embarked upon this plan when we were already tired and cranky, like at midnight), we decided to put a dresser into the walk-in closet. We’re talking a full-sized bureau here, about five feet high.

I grab one side, The Queen grabs the other, and we hoist it across the room. Between the lifting and my slightly hunched-over posture, the top edge of the dresser is level with my eyeline. Also, the corners of the thing are incredibly sharp. That’s a little thing we in the literary business like to call “Foreshadowing”.

So I’m backing into the closet. As I do so, the back of my head makes contact with the … you know, the thing. The rod. The hollow, wooden tube that runs below the shelf, on which you place the clothes hangers? That thing. I touch it with the back of my head. But I am so startled that I jerk forward, slamming my forehead into the corner of the dresser.

“Ohh god!” I howl, hastily setting my end of the dresser down and clutching my forehead. “Oh man. God, that hurts. Jeeze, I really got myself. I’m going to have a splitting headache within five minutes, I bet. Probably have a huge bump tomorrow, too. Wow, that was pretty bad. Yeah, that’s gonna be a goose egg.”

I look up at The Queen, and she’s completely stony-faced. Not a trace of sympathy. “Can we finish this?” she says. So I mutter under my breath a bit, and we finish putting the dresser into the closet.

About an hour later The Queen is in bed reading, and, as I climb in, she glances my direction. “Holy smokes,” she cries, “what happened?!”


“Your forehead! There’s a huge red mark on it.”

I do a slow burn for a moment. “That’s where I hit it. On the corner of the dresser.”

“When did that happen?”

“When did …?!” I splutter a bit. “Did you miss the part where I was clutching my head and yowling?”

“Ohhhhhh ….” Realization sets in. “I didn’t see you hit your head on the dresser. I though you were reacting to having backed into the closet rod at, like, one mile an hour.”

“I had my hand on the front of my head!” I point out.

“Yes,” she says, “That’s how I knew you were faking.”

23 thoughts on “Bureaucracy

  1. I’m currently in the hospital on pregnancy bedrest, but allowed to go out in a wheelchair once a day. My husband was trying to maneuver the chair through a partially obstructed doorway and caught my foot in between the footrest and the door. I yelled, “Ow! Jesus, honey!” and he started yelling at me that he was trying to get me through and I should just chill out. I didn’t find out for a couple of days that he didn’t realize he’d actually bumped me, not just the door.

  2. Quote: “Yes,” she says, “That’s how I knew you were faking.”


    Thanks for the laugh!


  3. Quote: “Yes,” she says, “That’s how I knew you were faking.”


    Thanks for the story!


  4. Having just moved a bunch of furniture ourselves, your story struck a chord… and a major funny bone. Hi- … wait-for-it … larious!
    Two sets of gorgeous blue eyes in that photo! Almost too distracting to notice your fake injury.

  5. I love Queen stories, and that is a good one! In reference to an earlier post about Sesame Street music: as a kid, one of our favorite records was Sesame Street Fever, which featured Bert (I think) on the cover in a white suit, a la John Travolta. As I remember it was a pretty good record! I haven’t thought about it in years, so thanks for the memory.

  6. OMG! I laughed till I cried. Totally have had this experience, just ask us about the mysteriously patched hole in our entryway hall. LOL (by the way, love the blog!)

  7. In the future, there will be a device which allows people to literally, physically share their pain. This will create great waves of understanding and sympathy, and it will single-handedly bring a halt to more conflict and disagreement than the IMDB.

  8. The most revealing part of this story is that the Queen’s reaction only makes sense if Matt has a long history of faking it to get sympathy and/or out of work.

  9. This is HILARIOUS!

    I love the way you describe your wife’s stonecold face.

    Kinda reminds me of my husband’s reaction to me when I am DEATHLY ILL with a temperature of 105 or so–I barely even get a “hope you feel better soon” because he thinks I’m faking.

    It’s much funnier reading about this happening to someone else:) But I do hope your head heals quickly!

  10. Are you a seriously bad faker or have displayed a great deal of bad faking in the past? Stub your toe and grab the wrong foot? Because that would be some massively bad, bad faking the Queen is accusing you of. Has she no faith in your faking abilities?

  11. Wait a minute (and yeah yeah, so sorry about the head injury)….I’m with Thelma…how can you just gloss over the fact that you keep a Craftsman 1470 pc. Professional Tool Set in your bedroom?

  12. This is why I make it a strict rule never to help my husband move stuff. One of us is guaranteed to wind up injured. Both of us are guaranteed to wind up peeved at each other.

  13. What I find funnier than The Queen thinking you were faking is “Operation Squabble.” My husband and I often find ourselves in the middle of a non-urgent, involved project that gets more complicated by the minute because it’s 1am and we’re tired and cranky. I totally relate.

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