SOME REPLIES TO "HEY, WHERE'D YA GET THAT SHINER?" BY KIM BOSCH 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? Write to Y.P.R. Write for Y.P.R. Right on, Y.P.R.