Category Archives: Stories

One Year Ago Today

I met Evan. Today is the anniversary of our first date.

Of course I have talked about this before, and you may already know the details. Or some of the details, at least. But, my friends, you don’t know the story. I am not sure I even know the story, or if there is even a story. I have never typed it out. But I am feeling all nostalgic and romantic, and I think it is good to have a record of the important moments in your life. So gather round and settle in for a little love story. Maybe make yourself a drink. I have a sneaking suspicion that it is going to get quite rambley, but we’re talking about love here so that is okay.

The Meeting

And so, one year ago today I met Evan. Well actually, I “met” him about one year and one week ago, online, on OKCupid.com. I had taken a little break from the whole online dating thing, as I wasn’t having great experiences (but that’s a whole other story…that I obviously blogged aboutseveral times), but one night in mid-December last year I was feeling a little lonely, so on a whim I signed back up (but on a different dating site, I was originally using Plenty of Fish, but both POF and OKC are free so I guess of the same calibre). I was slightly skeptical of online dating at that point, and pretty wary of anyone who messaged me. I was putting the photos of the guys who had messaged me into Google image search (note to online daters: this is VERY IMPORTANT!) and in the mix of guys who contacted me I found an ex hockey player (for the Edmonton Oilers), a European soccer player (who was also a model), and Hayden Christensen.

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Pretty sure Hayden Christensen was not actually messaging me on an online dating site.

So, needless to say, I wasn’t feeling confident about my luck online.

But… one of the people to message me within the first day of my re-sign up, right before I threw in the towel again, was Evan. And I don’t want to get all cliché and cheesy, but he really did write me the perfect “I’m breaking the ice here” note and just piqued my interest immediately. In my profile I had written, amongst other things, that I very much liked proper spelling and grammar, and if you wrote me a message that said “your beautiful” (my beautiful WHAT?) I would probably not respond. And Evan ended his first message to me with a simple:

“Oh, and also, you’re beautiful. See, I know my stuff.”

And while that may not seem like anything significant, for me I took that to mean that he knew his stuff spelling and grammar-wise, and also that he knew his stuff beauty-wise. So I liked that. And when I went over to check out his profile, I really liked what he had written there (in immaculate grammar and spelling), and I actually read every word before even looking at his pictures. And when I did look at his pictures, I saw this one:

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And I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on in this photo (is that a chicken?), but I’m also not entirely sure how you say no to that cheeky face. I wanted to talk to him. (I need to note here that I told Evan last night that I NEEDED to have this photo but I could not tell him the reason why because he doesn’t know I’m writing this, and he searched for it for me for an entire hour and even broke out his way old laptop to eventually find it. That man just delivers, I tell you.)

So anyway, I responded. I don’t remember what I said, but we were quickly having novel conversations within the online dating messaging thing, and within a few days or so we took our online talking to texting. And you may think texting is unromantic or whatever and be of the mindset that the guy should always call the girl, but I personally would rather text. I really dislike talking on the phone, even with my very best friends. I feel like I have a hard time reading people if I can’t see their facial expressions and I am thrown off by tone of voice alone. In-person communication is my favourite, but texting is second best to me, because I love to write and I can read what you text me and interpret it however I want.

Anyway, I’m digressing (I’m sure that will be a theme here). Moving on. After about a week we decided we should probably meet up in person and just sorta see what happened. This was the week before the Christmas holidays, and I had three Christmas parties to attend, as well as my work’s Christmas cookie exchange (and I was making my Nana’s shortbread cookies which are VERY time consuming), so it was a really, really busy time. But Evan was going to be away for at least a week over the holidays and I had a bunch of festive things happening as well, so I knew I had to squeeze him in. We didn’t even have time for dinner, but we met for a drink around 9pm on a Tuesday evening. It couldn’t be late, we both had to work the next day, but we just needed to meet and get it out of the way to see…I don’t even know what. That we both existed? We were who we said we were? In-person chemistry? I don’t know. But we had to see.

The First Date

It was awkward at first, as all first dates are. I don’t think there is any way to get around that. We met in the middle of the street (at the corner of Yonge and Davisville, my old ‘hood) all bundled up in our winter coats and our scarves and our mitts and our hats and just kind of awkwardly patted each other on the shoulder in greeting and then decided that maybe we should hug. Again, bulky and awkward. But it didn’t feel creepy or anything, so that’s a good sign.

We walked to a pub (the Twisted Kilt, which has sadly since changed its name) on Yonge between Eglinton and Davisville.

Once we sat down, the conversation was easy. I can barely remember what we talked about, but I do I remember that we did not stop talking, and everything seemed to flow very naturally. Before I knew it, it was 11 and I had to leave if I didn’t want to be a zombie the next day. We walked together to the corner where we had originally met, arm in arm, and Evan being the gentleman that he is offered to walk me to my door but I was STILL a little wary because of the whole online thing, even though I knew he wasn’t a creepy stalker… So I declined. But I appreciated the offer, very much. And we hugged goodbye, just a standard hug. But Evan told me later that he THOUGHT I might like him because before I walked away I put my hand on his side (more accurately, on the side of his bulky coat) and let it linger there for a minute while I stood there and just smiled at him. I don’t remember this, but I guess sub-consciously I wanted to touch him? I feel like it is one of those Cosmo articles “How To Show Him You Like Him” – touch your hair, your collarbone, let your hand rest on his thigh… I know you know the article. Well I guess it’s legit!

First Date Aftermath

After our first date, I did not see him next for nearly two weeks. Christmas things, you know! But during that time we texted constantly. Really, a lot. Especially at night as we were going to bed. Probably to an annoying amount for anyone who knows me. I spent Christmas day with my good friend Sherrie watching Love Actually and Scrooged in our Pajamas and I kept getting texts from Evan and Sherrie saw his name come up on my phone and was all “Who is this Evan?!” and I didn’t know what to tell her! Of course I was honest and said it was someone who I had met online and had been on one date with, and so far so good and fingers crossed and all that… I played it off as pretty casual. But at that point I already felt like Evan was a game changer, I just didn’t know how to convey to anyone yet that he was a “person of interest”.

I think it was the week and a half between our first and second date that solidified things in my mind. We talked so much during that time that when I saw him again I felt like I knew him so well and we were just…on our way. I don’t know what else to say or how else to describe it. I felt comfortable and Evan felt familiar.

The Second Boozy Date

For our second date, we met downtown at the Tim Hortons at College Station and Evan brought his own little bottle of Kahula to sneakily spike our coffees. A surprise that won me over even further (perhaps some people would disagree and say bringing your own booze on your second date isn’t a great sign, but I really liked it and I thought it was thoughtful). He told me nothing of what we were doing. He just told me where to meet him and what time and that he would take care of the rest. I was intrigued but I figured we were just going bowling or something.

Nope. No bowling. After he sneakily spiked our coffees we took the street car to Allan Gardens, a huge greenhouse in Toronto. I had never been there before, but I was surprised at how big it was. It was almost tropical inside and it felt great to get rid of our jackets and winter apparel and walk around with our spiked coffees and look at all the plants and flowers as we talked.

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Tres romantique. It was the most awesome and thoughtful date that I have ever been on. I thought it was so original. Way better than bowling. He also took me out for dinner to the 3 Brewers afterwards, a local brewery, which is not a fancy restaurant by any means but for me it was really perfect, as I love beer, and we got to try all the different kinds. It was a dream date, for sure.

Annnd we had our first kiss on the way home. All obnoxiously on the subway. If I didn’t know us and I saw us, I may have hated us. We were standing inside one of the door areas and I was so impressed and I thought he was so awesome and I just couldn’t handle it anymore so I just went for it. And it was awkward but nice, and then my giant purse slipped off my shoulder and brought the entire right side of my body down and that was the end of it. And that made us laugh hard.

And then…were we official?

We both deleted our profiles shortly after the second date. Which was funny actually because OKCupid asks for the reason of your profile deletion, and I just said I met someone offline because if you check online it asks for their username. I didn’t want to put in Evan’s username in case he got a notification or something, or a message saying “HEY! Lindsey is deleting her profile because she thinks you’re dating. IS THIS TRUE?!” but then when we talked about it later, Evan said he that he did actually check off that he met someone online and he put in my username… I guess he got shafted.

Before I left for Jamaica I wanted to make sure we were on the same page, so it was me who made the first move official-wise. Actually, I think I am very impatient and hate not knowing things, so I just made the first move to get it out of the way. I remember we were at my place hanging around and I was all “Soo…are you seeing anyone else?” even though I 100% knew he was not. And he confirmed and said he was not. And I said “Soo…do you maybe want to be my boyfriend?” all juvenille-like. I may as well passed him a note that said “Will you be my boyfriend? Check Yes, No or Maybe.”

A coworker of mine was asking me about this the other day and I told her that I was the one who essentially asked Evan to be my boyfriend, and she said “Oh, you must not have liked him very much then, if you were the one who asked. You wouldn’t have cared if he rejected you,” but that is not the case AT ALL. I asked because I already knew. I knew he was as into me as I was into him, I just wanted to make sure we both knew. I feel like it is important to be up front and honest and NOT play games. If you like someone, tell them. I’m not a fan of dicking around.

Anyway, he said yes, and now we live together, and happily ever after, and all that.

Our first photo together:

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I have already raved on about how Evan is the best ever. But know that I think every day that I could easily add something to that list. He is SO thoughtful and he pays attention to the smallest details…IN THE BEST WAY. I don’t think I have ever known anyone to notice and appreciate all the things about me the way he does. He goes out of his way to make my life easier. He is the most supportive person I have ever encountered. He is always a step ahead of me. It’s like he knows I need something before I even know that I need it.

I just feel so overwhelmingly thankful that he found me on OKCupid and messaged me what he did and that I wrote back. Because otherwise I don’t think I could have met him. I doubt our paths would ever cross. And I am really trying not to get too cheesy, but he is 100% the best thing that has ever happened to me and I don’t think I could have even imagined someone who is as amazing as him.

I know that in the grand scheme of life one year isn’t a very long time, but maaaan has this year dragged on. Just kidding. It has gone by very quickly, and it has been amazing. I already cannot remember a time when Evan was not in my life. It’s good times. It is very good times.

Soo, how to end this?

The End.

Yes.

How did you meet your significant other? I want to hear your loooove stories!

My imaginary friends, I might have been gifted, and other random things

I am sure we have all seen the Facebook status game going around that asks you to post random things about yourself so your friends can all pretend to be interested. My friend Beth nominated me to do this (because I liked her list, I guess that’s how it works), but I am going to pull a Paula and post it on my blog instead. Because there are a lot of random facts about me and I would like to elaborate on them, and as Paula said, ain’t nobody got time for that on Facebook.

Beth gave me the number 8, so here are 8 random facts about me. Oh and they’re mostly about my childhood, because I think kids are hilarious and I can remember a lot of really random things about growing up.

1. When I was about four and still living in our first house in the suburbs (before we moved to the middle of nowhere) I got one of those massive boxes of crayons with every single colour and I was so excited to use them. I thought it would be nice to make pictures for all the neighbours on our street. I spent hours and hours in my room working very hard on this. Sometimes I would just colour a page out of my colouring book and then tear it out, and sometimes I would elaborately and painstakingly draw the pictures myself, but either way I made sure that no neighbours were left out.

Everyone on my street received a special picture from me. Every day. For several weeks. I drew pictures and delivered them to my neighbours.

I snuck them into their mailboxes and left them on their doorsteps. I thought I was giving them a beautiful present and they would cherish it forever. Perhaps my pictures would even make it onto their fridge.

One day our old crotchety next door neighbour Mrs. Moaner (not her actual name, just what my mom called her, and not to her face) came over and told my mom that I needed to stop drawing pictures and leaving them on her doorstep. She did not like it, and was in fact very angry about receiving the pictures. And so, that was the end of my drawings (but I found out later that the older couple who lived across the street really loved my drawings and saved every single one).

2. I had two imaginary friends, also when I was around 3 or 4, still living in the same house. One was a girl named Orion, who was a pretty normal imaginary friend, and who would play with me in our backyard. We had some great times together.

My other imaginary friend was the monster who lived in the furnace grate in the floor at the end of my bed. This sounds scary, but his name was Harry and he was a very nice monster and from what I can remember he was pretty hilarious. Harry used to tell me funny stories as I was going to sleep. I can distinctly remember having conversations with Harry so now I wonder if I just had a really good imagination, or if my house was haunted? I will never know.

Harry is not to be confused with the evil monster who lived under my bed who I OBVIOUSLY was not friends with.

3. In Grade 2 I wrote a story about a girl. I can’t remember what the actual story was about, but I do remember I had to draw pictures for it, and in one of the pictures I drew, the girl was getting ready for school. In the picture the girl was getting dressed, and I drew her from the back, finding clothes out of her dresser to wear. I decided to draw her naked. With a big butt crack. I can still picture it. It looked like this:

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My mom was called in to talk to the teacher to see if I was having any issues at home. I wasn’t. I just thought it would be funny to draw someone naked. I liked to push the envelope a little bit.

4. Also in Grade 2 my mom (and possibly my teacher also, I don’t know) came up with the idea that I might be gifted. I was doing exceptionally well in writing and drawing, so the idea was not completely unwarranted. My school was having a test for students who might be gifted in the library, so I was to take it.

The test was a Scantron. So a sheet of questions, and then a separate sheet where you mark your answers.

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Don’t tell me you don’t remember these.

It was the first time I had ever seen a Scantron test so I had no idea how it worked. Unfortunately I did not pay attention while they explained the instructions. When it came time to do the test, I was too embarrassed to ask how to do it because I was supposed to be gifted and I thought gifted people weren’t supposed to ask questions (and gifted people probably also paid attention). So I pretended to know what I was doing and just coloured in little circles at random and hoped for the best. I probably didn’t even put my name on there correctly.

No one ever brought up the results with me. I’ll never know if I was gifted, but I’ll just go ahead and say probably not.

5. One time in later elementary school I really, really didn’t want to go to school so I decided to fake sick. And I decided to fake sick very elaborately. I got a large bucket and just started pouring things into it from the fridge: Ketchup, mustard, milk, mayonnaise, and Cheez Whiz. I then added water and bread chunks and mixed it all together until it had a nice thick consistency. Then I showed it to my dad and said that I threw up. He agreed I must be sick and I could stay home from school. I was so impressed with myself because the contents of that bucket really and truly did smell like throw-up! It was pretty gross. (note: I was telling Evan this story and he said “So many stories from your childhood involve you pulling the wool over your dad’s eyes,” and he would not be wrong about that. The Ghost of the Indian Chief is another example of this.)

6. I used to be able to beat the original Super Mario Bros in under eight minutes, by using all the warp zones.

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It was quite a party trick (when I was 8) and I was kind of a phenomenon in my neighbourhood. I was very proud of myself.

7. Speaking of video games, I REALLY love Guitar Hero and I am freakishly good at it.

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Or Rock Band, which isn’t the same, in my opinion. The Guitar Hero guitar is my instrument of choice.

I can play it on expert and get 98-100% on most of the songs (except the really crazy ones). A few years ago I won $100 in a Guitar Hero competition that I randomly stumbled across in a mall. I saw a big crowd milling about, so I walked up and entered on a whim and I ended up beating a bunch of 14 year old boys. Suckers. It was a proud moment for me.

8. I have a really awesome immune system, and I am very thankful for this. I get a minor cold maybe twice a year (if that), and it’s usually just a stuffy nose and a sore throat for a day or two. Nothing crazy. I don’t usually get headaches, I have not had the flu since the 7th grade, and I just don’t normally get sick (hence why I used to have to fake sick). I am pretty hardy. Do you know what I attribute this to? Growing up swimming in a dirty lake. Practically living in a dirty lake. I was exposed to who knows what and I’m pretty sure that’s what gave me my immune system of steel.

And that’s it, but feel free to tell me random facts about yourself!

Guess who was on the radio this morning?

That’s RIGHT! Me! This morning was my radio debut.

We have this extremely popular morning show in the Toronto area called The Dean Blundell Show, did anyone hear it this morning? Anyway, they have this segment at 8am called “Wha Happened?!” where listeners call in and tell embarrassing stories about things happening to them and the best story wins prizes.

I haven’t listened to the Dean Blundell Show all that much lately, but I caught it this morning as I was driving to work and I decided to call in. I have plenty of embarrassing stories, but the ones that Dean and friends seem to favour have some sort of dirty element to them. My plan was to tell my story about getting trapped in the cemetery while running and having to straddle a strange man’s head with my sweaty legs to get out (straddling the strange man’s head would be the dirty element here).

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So I called around 7:45 expecting it to be super busy, but I somehow got through right away. I was very, very surprised. For some reason I was extremely nervous and my heart was beating like crazy. I was practically hyperventilating. But by the time I had to tell my story I was in my office at my desk, so that helped calm my nerves a little bit.

I was the very first story, and you can listen to the audio here. Start at 45.15 to hear my man voice (just move the little audio bar over, it’s almost right in the middle of the segment).

Of course they took it into dirtier territory, but I was expecting that. I was just happy to get through my story without them really harassing me, because they have been known to play static and goat noises and ask “Are you on a cell phone?!” if the story is boring. Or they have this clip that just says “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING. You are so boring.” and then they just hang up. So I was lucky. It was very funny because I know a lot of people who listen to that show in the morning, so a bunch of my friends recognized me and texted me about it.

I didn’t win, which was very disappointing because I really did want CASBY Award tickets. I want to see Mother Mother and Hollerado and Said the Whale. I’m pretty sure you can only win tickets. And honestly I thought my story was the best out of the others, and they had a good reaction to it! I think sometimes going first can work against you, because by the time they heard from everyone maybe they forgot me. Who knows.

So that just means I’ll have to call back another time and tell them about the piggyback fail. That has a dirty twist with the whole underwear fandango.

That is all. Just wanted to tell you about my radio experience. Have a good weekend!

The Time I Was Trapped in a Cemetery

Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time I got trapped in a cemetery? Nope, because it was two nights ago.

I’ve been trying to keep up with the running thing lately, and one place I really enjoy running is the Mount Pleasant Cemetery. It’s beautiful, really well maintained, and there are 14km of paved trails in there. It’s a designated Natural Historic Site of Canada, and there are statues, fountains, botanical gardens, and the “forest of memories.” Some parts of it are truly stunning, and it is the final resting place of many well-known Canadians, including William Lyon Mackenzie King and the Eaton’s.

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Eaton family crypt

So running in there is very interesting. Nearly my entire family on my mom’s side is buried in there as well, including my grandma and her parents, and their parents.

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Mom, this picture is for you!

Which was a weird coincidence that I discovered after I started running in there.

Anyway, to access the cemetery you can enter from three pedestrian entrances, or six gates connected to Yonge St, Mount Pleasant, or Bayview. To keep the hooligans out at night, these are all closed and padlocked, and the rest of the cemetery is surrounded by a tall, steel fence. With spikes.

I have run in there many times over the past year, and during the summer they usually close the gates around 9pm.

On Monday I hit up the cemetery a bit after 8pm and all was going well running-wise. Well, besides being a sweaty mess because it was insanely hot. After about half an hour I passed one of the gates on the furthest side of the cemetery from where I entered and I noticed it was locked. I thought it was weird, but I don’t ever use that gate so I thought it may have been unpopular and closed early. I kept running to the gate that I was planning on exiting from, while noting that I hadn’t seen anyone in a while and that was odd because usually the cemetery is busy with walkers/runners and cyclists. That gate too was locked. I ran to the gate I came in from. Locked. Uh oh.

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“What am I gonna do?” – I am saying this to myself in the voice we use to talk to my friend Dawn’s dog.

This was not a good sign. As much as I love the cemetery, it was starting to get dark and I did not want to spend the night in there (um, ghosts?!). But I figured I would get out somehow. I didn’t start really worrying until I came across a young couple who told me that if all the gates were locked we were probably stuck in there.

Awesome. Around that time, an older man on a bike rode past and said he was going to go check out the main gate and report back. We (the couple and I) followed The Biker on foot, and by the time we got to the main gate (locked), he had already hopped the fence with his bike and was on the other side on the street.

The fence was steel and taller than me. I can barely do a pushup with my knees down, so pulling myself up and over it would have been an impossible task with my lack of upper body strength. However, there was a brick pillar on the main gate, and a spot for a foothold on that pillar halfway up the fence. The only problem was at that spot there were giant steel spikes (to prevent people from climbing).

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It looked like this

The Biker on the other side of the fence pointed to the spot on the fence beside the pillar and yelled “HERE! You have to climb here!” and I didn’t see another option, so I stepped onto the pillar and began to pull myself over the fence. And here is how that went:

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And then The Biker appeared in front of me.

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I protested.

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I actually said this.

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So, I did.

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I managed to not impale myself or fall on my face, and I made it down safely. I don’t even think The Biker hurt his back too badly.

This all happened on a very busy street, so by this point a few people had gathered around (one other guy actually grabbed my hands at the last second to help me down), so that was not embarrassing at all. The couple was still inside the cemetery watching the whole thing, and when they saw my awkward fence jump, they decided to turn around and find somewhere easier to climb out. Kind of wish I stayed and went with them.

So what do you say to the complete stranger whose head you just wrapped your sweaty legs around? I didn’t know.

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Seemed appropriate. And then I walked home.

And that is the story of the time I got trapped in a cemetery.

Rocky the Attack Cat

So, I love cats. I have always loved cats, my family has always owned cats, and you may remember that I was catsitting for two separate kitties over the Christmas holidays. And of course I love my spry elder kitty Winnie.

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Love her a lot.

But it is a little bit surprising that I love cats so much, because I had a very traumatic experience when I was quite young involving my family’s first cat, Rocky.

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He liked to photobomb me.

Rocky was not exactly the friendliest kitty. I’m surprised he is letting me pick him up in the above photo because generally Rocky was not a fan of that. Sometimes he would sit near me and allow me to pet him, but if I tried to take our snuggling to the next level he would to get grumpy and make a getaway. Fair enough, I was young so sometimes I was a bit of a dick to him. It is understandable that I was not his favourite. Winnie still does not particularly like children because of how horrible my brother was to her when he was younger. Usually I let Rocky do his own thing and didn’t bother him too badly.

Unless I had a friend over and I wanted to show off.

One day when I was about three, my childhood friends Amanda and Chad were over, and Chad and I discovered how much fun it was to harass Rocky.

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We chased him around the house for the entire morning. He would try to hide from us, but wherever he went, we would find him.

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Rocky would jump on top of the counter thinking it was too tall for us to be able to reach him, but we would get him.

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He would hide under my parents bed to get away from us, but of course we would find him.

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We played this game for a couple of hours. We would find Rocky, rough him up a little bit, he would run away, we would find him again, and repeat. Rocky got progressively more annoyed. Eventually we became bored with the harass-the-cat game and went off to play by ourselves. Rocky continued hiding.

That afternoon, hours after the Rocky-harass-fest, my mom asked me if I could go down to the basement to get a can of apple juice out of the cold cellar for snack time.

No problem. I loved apple juice. I started to make my way down the stairs to the basement.

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But as I was going down the stairs, I slipped.

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I lost my footing and I fell the last three steps down to the basement floor, thumping very loudly the whole way.

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Rocky was still hiding from us, and his hiding spot of choice was the closet under the stairs. When Rocky heard me thumping on the stairs as I was falling, he assumed I was coming to get him. But Rocky had had enough and he was not going to take it. He decided to seek revenge.

Before I could get up, Rocky leaped out of the closet and onto my face.

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He scratched me, jumped off me, and ran away to hide again.

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Attacked.

He sliced me just under my nose with his front claw, all the way to my mouth. All I remember is lying on the basement floor while my mom’s best friend held a green J Cloth to my face to try and stop the bleeding. There was massive amounts of blood. Just blood everywhere.

I had to go to the emergency room, and in the end I needed to get three stitches.

Rocky lived on to have a long and amazing cat life. But he left his legacy on my face forever.

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It’s fairly faint, but it is there. Of course, this was my own fault for bothering Rocky so badly. He was really just trying to protect himself.

So the moral of this story is, don’t harass cats. They will try to claw your face off.

Crotched.

A short comic about the time my friend Melissa was over for a sleepover and I accidentally crotched myself.

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It hurt a lot. The End.