My Black Eye

Last Friday night I had a run in with a couple of villains. It happened like this.
I dreamed I was on a cruise ship, when a woman toting a muscle man on her hip walked up to me. She placed a button in my hand. Noticing it was ticking and had a clock face, I immediately knew it was an explosive device.
As they walked away I decided that if I was going to blow up I was taking them with me. I knew I could bring these two villains down, so with arms outstretched I took a flying leap at their retreating backs.
The next thing I knew my face whacked into the corner of the bedside cabinet, which woke me up fairly rapidly. “Ouch!” I said. Okay, so I said more than “ouch!” It brought forth several expletives I hadn’t used since my youth. However, my grandchildren might read this so I’m keeping it clean.
I was due to deliver a writers’ workshop in the city the next morning, using public transport to get to the venue. So on the wettest, darkest most miserable day of the year I set out wearing impenetrable sunglasses with side shades.
However, I had to take them off when I got there. I told the tale of my run-in with the terrorist bedside cabinet and the button bomb, hoping for some sympathy. The story received several disbelieving “Hahs!” and a good belly laugh. Odd how a person’s misfortune can bring laughter instead of sympathy, like farting in public.
For the last few days I’ve been sporting a purply-black eye than was delivered via my dream. It’s the first shiner I’ve ever had, and I can’t even brag about it (though I suppose I did save a cruise ship?) Of course, nobody will believe my story and my mild-mannered husband, who wouldn’t squash a catapillar, is getting a few questioning looks. So this is the official version. OKAY?