On Wednesday afternoon, I had a tiny bit of oral surgery that I would not wish upon my worst enemy. I will spare you the details…suffice to say it was not for the squeamish.

Anyway, I was running on low-wattage yesterday, but needed to get to the bank and get some cash.

While there, my cell phone kept ringing and I probably sounded rushed. Cuz I was. The teller took one look at my bruised and swollen cheek, misunderstood the situation and asked me if I needed to talk.

The more I tried to say that no, I hadn’t been in a fight recently and that my husband was a very nice man…the more she shook her head and clucked her tongue. I could tell she thought I was living in complete denial.

Then she gave me her card and told me to call her. She said she was a very good listener.

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