Oh It Didn't Bruise That Bad

This should serve as a lesson to our readers: when someone has been trained formally in defending oneself via counterviolent methods, regardless of that someone's present apparent limitations, don't attack said person.

I'm in a neck brace. I can't turn my head. I'm walking with a cane half the time -- believe me, I'm still trying to connect why I have a cane after neck surgery. It doesn't seem intuitive to me either, but there you go. The point is, I'm not really a picture of spry health and activity or anything. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm a visual example in how not to approach pain management (ie, someone cutting on you with a knife isn't a way to solve the pain you were complaining about anyway).

Nonetheless, even in this pathetic condition of mine, when someone (let's say, hypothetically, Sassy) makes a movement that appears similar to 

• attacking me, 
• seeing if she can put her foot at my ear level, or 
• just generally annoying me, 

I tend to react in a manner consistent with "defending" myself. (As Sassy can relate, my defense is awfully offensive.)

Continuing this hypothetical example and lesson: I was attempting to obtain breakfast for myself* when someone (again, for the sake of example, let's say Sassy) informed me of her belief that she could kick her leg up to my ear level. One second after saying this out loud, which is about two seconds before it really registers in my brainpan, on account of the narcotics I've been prescribed, she lifts her leg to kick her foot up to my ear -- but to me, it just looks like she's about to kick me! Her statement was slowly registering itself in my brainpan right then, but it was too late, because my muscle memory took over -- and that muscle memory didn't just get me consecutively darker belts to tie around my white pajamas, it's really saved my ass a few times, so I rather trust it.

I punched her shin. With my left hand, in my defense! (If I'd used my right, otherwise known as Hell Knuckle, Sassy wouldn't be here to comment today.) In hockey, they'd call this a bang-bang play, meaning at live-action speed it'd have been hard for a referee to call a penalty. Leg came up in kicking pose, fist shot out in response and connected with shin. Bang-bang, see? 

It about broke my heart to see moisture gather in the corners of her eyes and her lower lip gather in a big pout, because I didn't really mean (aka, intend, have foreknowledge of, etc.) to punch out. At the same time, even with my limitations, there ain't a soul who is ever going to lay a violent hand on me either (Bronx can verify the tenacity of my willingness to back this up).

I gave her a hug and then followed her into the bathroom with my breakfast cereal, a point she really wanted me to add to this blog, because she thinks it best displays the kind of shit she puts up with when her 32-year-old genius significant other (better known as Kid) is reduced to childlike behavior by the Norco and pain.

*meaning, I was asking Sassy to pour me Cocoa Pebbles, because it makes delicious chocolate milk.