Last week, I had a little run-in with some troublemakers at a local restaurant. We were sitting there, having a quiet lunch, enjoying a fine sirloin of Kobe beef, chatting amiably about the day’s events and upcoming plans to pursue acupuncture. The next thing I know, the discussion at a nearby table turns loud and threatening. Chairs are pushed back, voices are raised, and fists are lifted. I quickly motion my family back toward the door and rush to separate the two, who are now swearing and insulting each other’s wives and haircuts. A comparison of one woman’s nose to a pickle goes unnoticed, but then one goes too far and tells the other it’s time to get rid of the mullet. He reaches for a fine bottle of Australian chardonnay (the bottle was fine, I fear the wine was not), smashes it on the table, and goes after the other. By that time I am physically restraining the two, muscles quivering in an attempt to keep them from each other’s throats, so I was unable to block the descending blade of glass with anything other than my own head, sacrificing my safety (and a stream of blood) to prevent an event which, forever after, would cause the attacker to hang his head in shame and guilt.
OK, OK, I bent down to move something and when I got up, I smacked my head on the corner of a shelf and cut my head! There, are you happy now? Are you?
