So. Suburban Correspondent and I exchanged a few emails offline with me giving her a little more background story: my daughter had had surgery at 18 months and the plastic surgeon had had us put paper tape, available on scotch-tape-style rolls at the drugstore, on her incision site 24/7 for six months minimum to keep the scarring way down. Granted, she’s 22 now and that advice is a little old by now. But it also means I can affirm that given how large an area he operated on and how small and faint her scar is–and the fact that her father grows massive scars when he scars–the doctor’s advice clearly was good. Suburban Correspondent’s little one had just gotten stitches, so the topic was of interest.
Suburban’s husband Larry teased her about taking advice from her imaginery internet friend. And so our pair of posts ensued, with her insisting I really was real; I’d written this!
The kicker of a follow-up is that my husband was then up in the night with a migraine and did not turn on the light. Light hurts. Light might wake up his wife. Darkness, yes, darkness good, light bad.
Unless you happen to turn around in mid-stride, misjudge, are taller than the average doorframe–we replaced most of the doorframes with non-standard ones for this very reason–and you smack your forehead. HARD.
So, hubster puts some tape on it like the plastic surgeon said long ago, whatever he can quickly find, which happens to be the superduper deathgrip stuff rather than the flimsy paper variety, and goes to bed rather than waking me up to take him in for stitches.
Somehow sometime he took that tape back off. I guess his forehead bothered his sleeping self.
I wake up in the morning, and dude! Not only is his face Frankensteined, but he’s got two faint rows of white (glue from the tape) embedded in his skin. You hit the wall so hard you sank the paint off the wall into your forehead?!
So I reminded him, 24/7 paper tape, hey Frankenstein, you know, you gotta keep that scarring down.
And I got this rolling of his eyes and a not on your life! reaction back.
I guess the moral of the story is, I can tell an 18-month-old in friendly terms that she IS going to wear that tape, end of story, and thus it was. But not someone that much bigger than me. And hey, Larry–it really did happen.
And the fact that no way no how will he let me photograph it to memorialize it forever on the Internet is all the more proof that he’s real, too.