Friday, September 05, 2008
I Bruise Like a Grape
When Daffy Duck repeatedly said, “Watch it, I bruise like a grape,” my skeptical young mind was troubled by the “like a grape” part. Bananas and apples were far less reliable than grapes in my book. With grapes, your primary concerns would be choking and eating seeds.
[In case of choking on a grape alone in the kitchen because you came home from the pool for a quick snack and tossed one into your mouth like you’ve seen your big brothers doing: immediately stop trying to breath, throw your ribs over the back of a kitchen chair, and simultaneously cough hard. Rejoice that you have fabulous instincts for beating death. Tell no one.]
You could say I bruise like a grape. Tickle me and you’ll find fingerprints, but technically I’m more like a peach. My bruises are so regular and colorful I’ve started appreciating them like sunsets.
From a distance, everyone thought my tae kwon do bruises were tattoos.
Indeed, armfuls of deep and serious bruising are what ultimately made me go from never wanting tattoos to wanting these bruises, these livid colors, on me forever. I liked how those TKD bruises felt like they signified something more than my inability to navigate a 3 dimensional plane.
As much as I love the color of bruises I’d probably avoid that final yellow, opting more for the bright blues, greens, purples, and pinks of a 2 or 3 day old injury. Now just how to weave those colors into the imagery I’d want.
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