I may not know where you exactly are, and I most definitely don’t know where you came from, but I want to take a minute to recognize you. I mean first off, you’re all total bitches. Some of you are causing more pain than others, but all of you are tiny little annoyances. And you’re kinda causing a scene. Considering how big and purple some of you are, I question whether you’re a result of my own clumsiness or if my bitchiness finally caught up to me and I got into (and subsequently lost) a fight.
On the other hand, I’d kind of like to thank you. You give me a little insight on what may have happened the night before, whether it was a fight or a fall, thought it most likely was a fall. Did I fall down the stairs? The bar? The bed? Oh, what I would give to know where you came from.
Sorry to say this, but you’re ugly. Painful and ugly. And the fact I bruise like a peach doesn’t help. The dark purple marks all over my body are concerning to some, but I’m used to it. Sure, people may stare and ask if I’m okay or how my relationship with my boyfriend is, but I’m fine. This happens all the time, really.
Of course, depending on where they are, I can normally guess what stupid drunken thing I did. Once my friends tell me all about how they babysat me after I made a fool of myself, it all starts making sense. But for nights where I can’t remember what I even wore, bruises help me piece my night together. If anything, they prove that I had a damn good time that night, and really, that’s all that matters.
What I can’t understand is why I wake up with so many. I mean, I know I’m a klutz, but still. On any Friday morning I can wake up with at least five different bruises. Some of them are in the weirdest places, too. How does one manage to bruise the back of their thigh? Ask me when I’m drunk, and I might be able to tell you, cause I sure as shit can’t remember now.
There’s nothing really awesome about you. You hurt, you look weird, and you definitely concern people. But in a really fucked up way, you’re part of me and my nights out. I think if I didn’t come home with at least one mysterious bruise, I would be concerned.
So maybe next time I hit the bars I’ll try and control myself from flailing or falling. And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll actually remember what I did to wake up with a grapefruit sized bruise on my shin/arm/thigh.
Until then, every time someone asks me where that bruise came from, I’ll just respond with “I had a rough night, okay?” .