I had just finished up a little vacuuming this morning. 

I was leaning over, wrapping the cord back onto the side of the vacuum cleaner.

All of a sudden, the plug on the end of the cord came around and hit me square across my nose. 

And I am not ashamed to say that it hurt so bad I cried. 

Parker didn’t know what happened.  He came over to comfort me, since I was sobbing and bent over behind the couch. 

I promptly told him to leave me alone. 

Obviously I was in a good mood about the whole thing.

I eventually went into the bathroom to look at it, and I realized that it actually broke skin on my nose and under my right eye. 

Seriously, could I have done this if I had tried?

Parker suggested I put some ice on it to prevent the possibility of a bruise.  So I sat there on the couch for 20 minutes with ice on my nose, while the pain slowly crept into a full-blown headache. 

I looked up at Parker and said, “If this turns into a bruise, please don’t make me sit on the front row with you when you preach tomorrow.”

Clearly, the prospect of becoming a pastor’s wife greatly appeals to me.

In an attempt to be sensitive, Parker said, “I really don’t think it’s going to turn into anything.”  I took off the ice, and he said, “Oh yeah, there’s definitely a bump there.”

Then, in what I will choose to assume was intended to be a display of sympathy, he said, “Oh, and you already don’t like your nose.”

Thank you for that reminder that this could accentuate my least favorite feature. 

[It also brings back memories of a very unfortunate drill team accident during competition season my senior year of high school, after which I had to carry a small ice chest on the team bus and use extra make-up to hide the bruise.]

So now I’m sitting on my couch, watching the Tar Heels play Maryland and waiting for the inevitable bruise to discolor the bump that I’ve now got on my nose.

If you decide to clean your house today, do me a favor and watch out for your vacuum cleaner. 

That cord can be a killer.