Don't break your face

A hallmark of my capacity for self-destruction is that I find myself charming (hell, somebody has to).
One particular eccentricity that I use in order to sound particularly eccentric and interesting to my students...co-workers...friends...family...alright dammit, everybody is to minimize everything and masquerade as 'dry'or 'apathetic' or 'dispassionate'. I like to think that kids find it funny.
On the first day of class for my students regardless of age I say the following thing almost verbatim (I only appear to say things off the cuff...that's a whole other entry (then why don't you write it?(that is another level entirely of my capacity for self-destruction (that and my excessive use of parentheses (I mean, really, what is that...five open parentheses(I mean really (that makes six (seven))))))). I say: the number one rule I have is do not break your face or the faces of others.
you would think I would have no problem keeping within the parameters of my own rules.
Nope.
It all started in November when I decided it would be OK for me to be associated with a production of Grease (trust me, it was politically necessary). To me Grease is the genital wart of the musical theatre world. Its freaking terrible but when you get down to it, if you are desperate enough you will get in bed with it. Hate is a strong word, but it doesn't come close to the harshness with which I would attribute my feelings for Grease.
I will try to be succinct (for a change). In a nutshell Grease is a musical filled with hackneyed musical chum tying together a plot whose culminating event is the heroine 'Sandy' compromising her morals and sense of self in order to be cool. That to me sounds like a good show to do in high school.
I knew I was going to pay for it.
I should have seen it coming.
During the performance of Grease I was working (I swear I was only a technical supervisor) carried a profound karmic weight. If I were Hindu, I would be turned into...well...a genital wart. But no, the cycle that is samsara took my slight on the cosmic balance of the universe out on my sainted wife.
You see somewhere between the 'songs' greased lightning and mooning my beloved wife began her inning as catcher for our softball team 'phallic reference'.
As the high school students were struggling (in vain) to find their pitch, my wife tried to catch a pitch from the ace of our staff 'the one man blue state'.
Sadly, instead of catching the pitch, the batter took a hearty swing and tipped the ball off the bat.
For those of you who have played ball sports know that a 'foul tip' translates as to 'oh my god, hide your children' or something to that effect.
To her credit, She of the stolen bike did catch the foul tip. She just neglected to use her glove.
Lets skip to the phone message I received from our friend 'ferret boy' during the intermission of 'Ishtar on ice would be better' oh, I'm sorry...I mean Grease.
'hey Mycapacity its Ferret boy. Hey we're out here playing some softball. Hey listen, just wanted to let you know...'
this is where all of the blood leaves my face
'she of the stolen bike got hit by a pitch'
oh, thank god. Its slow pitch, who cares?
'she had a bloody nose so we sent her to the emergency room'
by this point I had my head between my knees because I started to see floaties
'I don't think its a big deal, we are just being safe'
I start now to realize that I am the only person in the middle school parking lot in his car with his head between his legs. I start to feel awkward. I also cannot leave.
To boil this whole experience down to five essential words I would choose:
Wife, emergency room, my fault.
My capacity for self destruction added the last two words. Ferret boy knows better than to say it...also, he knows that I would rather take a foul tip in the face than listen to 'we go together'.
Long story short (too late). She of the stolen bike is fine. She is wearing an awfully sexy nose cast (seriously, I am surprised that their is not a magazine in a back room somewhere called Nose Cast Grrls).
I am left with a quandry however, did she of the stolen bike break my rule, or, did I?
I couldn't tell you.
I am just glad that she is fine.
I still feel responsible, but I always have the forward thinking and socially responsible Grease to console me. I will leave you with its life affirming message.
We go together like
rama lama lama
ke ding a de dinga a dong
remembered for ever like
shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yipitty boom de boom
Chang chang chang-it-ty chang
shoo-bop
That's the way it should be
Wha oooh yeah!

Honest to god, if given the choice? Batter up.