Thursday, March 4, 2004 | Non-Fiction
Some Replies to “Where’d Ya Get That Shiner?”
I’m tired of telling the story.
Nothing happened.
It’s just a little bruised.
A couple stitches.
I fainted in my bathroom over the weekend.
I slipped on the ice cleaning off my car.
My scarf tripped me into a garbage bin.
My nephew threw a rock at me.
I tried to climb into the boat without using the ladder.
I was making a bow to go with my arrows.
It was the airbag.
CDs have sharp corners.
Belts are not for swinging around your head like a lasso.
An icicle fell from the roof while I was on my smoke break.
I cut in line at the pizza place.
My mother caught me in bed with my stepfather.
I told my roommate she looked fat.
My horse kicked me.
I touched one of the strippers.
My partner failed to hold the branch back while we walked through the woods.
I was drunk and dancing the twist at a wedding.
I punched myself to get a part in a play.
It was a baseball,
a puck,
a squash racquet,
a Frisbee,
a horseshoe.
Stop looking at me!
It’s fine.
What black eye?
Kim Bosch is the sole heiress to the Bosch Power Tool fortune, but right now she has no money (so don't ask her for any). She makes little cash selling her poetry outside the movie complex on Saturdays until the man with the Britney Spears mike kicks over her change cup and threatens to call the cops. She writes a lot of her stuff at night when she's a werewolf. You can find some of it at Zulkey.com, Really Small Talk, and McSweeney's. She lives in various places in Ontario.