Nope. I'm not talking about a new dress. Not even talking about a fancy new restaurant I've been to lately (except I haven't).
I'm talking about this:
Apparently, I was under the impression that I have cat-like reflexes. I am here to tell you that I do not.
Saturday, we were leaving the house to run some errands. Everyone was in the car, waiting on me, as usual. As I came out of the laundry room and into the garage, I realized I left the laundry room light on. I thought I'd just pop my hand back inside to flick off the light switch real quick before the h.e.a.v.y fire door finished its arc to a close.
Not so much.
That door bounced off my hand.
After I determined that I had not broken any bones, it puffed up in such a cute way. Charming, right? Can I blame the fact that it looks like I have the hands of a 90-year old on the garage door too? Yes? Ok, good.
The swelling is down, although there's still a bump. The entire top of my hand was a bluish tint. Now, we're moving on to the greeny-yellow phase. And it's tender.
What is the lesson learned here, besides the obvious? Well, I just don't know.