You Should See the Other Guy

Last Sunday, I appeared at church with a black eye. Most people pretended not to notice, but a few of my friends asked me in a concerned voice what happened. “Did you fall? Did you bump into something?”

“No,” I said, “I hit myself in the face with a ball.” I was standing outside my screened in porch, throwing the kong, a sturdy rubber dog toy, into the back yard for my guide dog. She loves to chase the kong and bring it back to me, over and over, as if her life depended on it. We do this every morning, to help burn off some of her puppy energy, and she loves it. On this particular morning, I heaved that ball as hard as I could, but instead of sailing into the back yard, it hit the corner post of the porch and bounced right back and hit me in the face. It stung a little, but I didn’t think anything of it until people started asking me what happened. After church, a group of us went out for lunch, and one of them said, “Mary, tell them the story of your black eye.” To my delight, at the end of the story, they all laughed, especially after someone cracked, “You can say, “you should see the other guy. Oh wait. I am the other guy.”


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