At least I decided to go with the black dress. It went so much better with my black eye than the red would have. Especially once the bleeding stopped.
My reaction after I opened the rental car door into the top of my cheekbone was sufficiently unsettling that even my three children stopped picking on me for a moment. I could hear their stunned silence as I stood there, holding my hands over my left eye as my entire head throbbed. I felt like a toddler who had just fallen, mouth open in preparation for a good cry but unable to make a sound. My daughter pulled my hands away, and her reaction was calming. "Oy. You're bleeding!" Great. It seemed unlikely that I would be able to get a same day appointment for a blow dry, and now I was going to be a stringy haired mess with a huge shiner for my cousin's wedding. So much for the momentary high of people I haven't seen in a while telling me I looked great. As gushingly full of shit as my favorite cousins can be (okay, they're my only cousins, but they'd be my favorites no matter what), that would be a white lie beyond even their capabilities.
As quickly as my children sprung into action to get me some ice, my mother shifted effortlessly into 'nurturer in chief' mode, making me weepy with her compassionate and constructive commentary. "Why on earth did you do that???" she asked, giving me that look she's so good at, the same one she gave me when she first saw me sporting my freshman fifteen. How does one respond to that? Because there wasn't a train coming that I could throw myself in front of, so this was the next best option?
Looking like a battered woman has its benefits. People -- even your children -- take pity on you. My daughter insisted on taking over the driving duties for the weekend. She said she wanted me to rest. I'm pretty sure it was more of a safety issue, but I was perfectly willing to relinquish the wheel and start drinking as early in the day as possible. I warned my soon to be ex that, in his absence, I was going to blame him for the shiner, finally give everyone the long awaited opportunity to nod and tsk tsk knowingly. (Goyim, they beat their wives. I could already hear the smug whispers.) My ex was generous about taking the heat; "they won't believe the car story anyway," he pointed out.
At the wedding, not only was I able to dance like a wild woman and blame it on the hallucinogens some hotel doctor gave me for the pain (who would know there was no hotel doctor?), but my children -- all three of them -- joined me on the dance floor. All it took was a quick snap of my head toward the parquet tiles, and they followed me as if I were Mother Goose, my three loyal subjects somehow feeling beholden to me for all the years of unconditional love, paying it forward. More likely they wanted to be there to pick me up and whisk me off as soon as I either tripped on my big clumsy feet or passed out, but I'll take it. There's a hint of devotion there, and I'm happy to grab onto it. It was nice to be able to dance, nicer still to have my three kids (and an occasional cousin) as partners.
I was even able to play the pity card at LaGuardia airport, not generally known for its smiling customer service. As infrequent flyers (or maybe just idiots) continued to hold up the security screening process -- when TSA agents repeatedly warn folks to make sure their pockets are completely empty before they go through the creepy x-ray machine, apparently what they mean is empty except for whatever any given person happens to still have in his pockets -- the agent monitoring the metal detector reserved only for crew waved me and my children over, rescuing us from the ridiculously long line. He even smiled and looked the other way when I told the college girl in front of us I was temporarily adopting her and she should come with us. Battered women are entitled to shelter for themselves and their offspring, and also to expedited airport screening. Good to know.
My eye is now an attractive reddish purple punctuated by a little brown scab just above the cheekbone. Today, the black dress wouldn't match so well. I might just have to go shopping so I can accentuate the new eye color.
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