Ever wonder what a person’s leg would look like if it got shot by an arrow? Well, I’ve never thought about it, but I got the info first hand anyway…or first leg…or…nevermind.
Ok, ok. So not shot exactly. More like arrowed. Yes, that would probably be a better word. Arrowed just above the knee.
No, it wasn’t a passing Boy Scout working on his merit badges. He got that one at Scout Camp.
No, it didn’t have anything to do with Cupid. I have a restraining order out on that guy–and any grown man in a diaper, for that matter.
No, it wasn’t a violent ambush by a pack of crazed Aborigines. I would have seen that coming.
Trust me. This was worse.
Unbeknown to me the said arrow was covertly poking it’s mean little tail feathers out from the top of a box…in the hallway…where I was innocently walking…when it leaped out and attacked me.
All right. All right.
I walked right into it.
Arrowed–shot. Shot–arrowed. What’s the difference? All I know is that the pain was like being bit by a Rhino–do they bite? Oh, who cares. It nearly dropped me to the floor. The room seriously spun while I stood there trying to figure out what had just happened in this previously benign hallway.
In other words…it hurt like crap.
I’ll never see that hallway in exactly the same light again. In fact, next time I’ll turn on the light before I venture forth. That would’ve helped.
(Just imagine the whining if it had been the pointed end!)