I get bruised.


There are matching marks on my right arm.

Earlier today my mother, alarmed, exclaimed, “Hycie!! What happened to your arms??”

I fought the laughter bubbling up and gave her the blankest look I could muster and shrugged, “I dunno.”

“No, Hycie, that’s not good,” her nurse voice kicking in. “It looks like someone grabbed you by the arms.”

“I dunno, Mom.” I shrugged again wishing her to stop scrutinizing me.

“Well, you need to keep an eye on that! It could be serious!”

“Ok, Mom, will do.” I’ll definitely keep an eye on the naked man who wrestled me last night in my bed.

6 thoughts on “I get bruised.

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