Then I got this scar sneaking under the door of a pay toilet

Yesterday in a stunning display of grace, athleticism, hand-eye coordination, and good old fashioned boneritis, I somehow managed to hit myself directly in the face with a grocery hand basket. (Fortunately, most of the groceries were out of it at the time.) I can't even explain how I did it; I don't think the three other people in line with me could explain either. It was all we could do to uncomfortably ignore the whole situation while we all stood in line and I bled at a slight trickle from the face.

At any rate, now I have a black eye and a small scratch below it that actually resembles a minute version of Harry Potter's lightning scar. No Dark Lords have tried to kill me, at least that I've noticed, though, so I think I'm in the clear. But I have had to explain to at least five people, "Well, I accidentally hit myself in the face," and after the third person gave me a look of great pity and sadness, I stopped including the words "with a grocery basket" in the sentence, and it is serving me much better.

I will start working my way through some of the prompts quite soon. In the meantime, I would like to side-eye the wickedly complicated etiquette of the office bathroom.

( There is a lot of mention of bodily fluids and substances under here that you might not want to read about, so, uh, be warned, okay? )

I fully expect a number of people to defriend me for that one, or at least silently resolve to never meet me in person.