About two Friday afternoons ago, in my haste to match up the kitchen and dining area floors with the hazarded expectations of this girl I really dig being with, wet hands dropped an unopened bottle of Murphy’s Oil, hitting the rim, corking the lid like champagne and sending a Physics-graphic jet of it into my eye. I must have stood in its trajectory for what felt like 5 minutes before I realized I should get out of the way. I’m hardly kidding, either.

All I could think of while inside those actual seconds was that show “Rescue 911” and how this would be just another segment as bad as that “Help I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up” phase we all went through years and years ago.

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