So Very Pretty

In the Sume Family, if one of us does something bone-headed—some might call it “stupid”—we just look at them with understanding and say kindly, “It’s ok, you’re very pretty.”

If I am the receiving end of this comment, I often respond “Thank you.” Usually followed by 

“Hey!” as the meaning behind the perceived compliment slowly sinks in.

Last Sunday---and please don’t think I’m bragging here— I was extra-special pretty. Industrial strength pretty. Capital P Pretty. I was so pretty I even self-identified as pretty.

It’s a long story, and kind of impossible to explain—one of those you had to be there stories--- but thank heavens no one was there to witness it. I won’t try to explain exactly what happened, but I will give you the pivotal pieces of the story and let your imagination do the heavy lifting.

I was hurrying to visit my grandson---a visit that would entail two of my favorite things: holding the baby and watching football. I parked, got out of the car. I was wearing sunglasses that I decided to toss on the dash just as I was closing the door. The sunglasses fell back out of the car, missed being crushed by the closing door and dropped on the grass, unscathed. Pretty lucky, right?

Anyway—some time between congratulating myself on my good luck and successfully securing the sunglasses back inside the car I managed to close the side of my face—specifically my left eye—in the car door.

That’s right. I shut the door—not on my sunglasses—I shut the door ON. MY. FACE.

Who shuts the car door on their face? I mean, how would you even DO that?

The answers to those questions are “me” and “I truly have no idea.”

I was standing there, cupping my eye, leaning my head on the car roof, thinking “Boy, that really HURTS,” trying to decide if I was going to cry or if I should just suck it up and go hold my grandbaby when I became aware that the falling rain was warmer than one would expect in October. As I might have mentioned---I’m very pretty. And pretty bloody. I was quite the sight to see, and my son was dispatched to the drugstore for medical supplies.

Not me, not my eyebrow, not even close.

By the time he returned, I had bleeding under control. As he carefully applied the liquid bandaid to my brow, he very gently broke it to me that my career as an eyebrow model was probably a thing of the past, but--no worries!—I was still VERY PRETTY. 

And, clearly, I am. So very Pretty.