In our 10 years of marriage, I've had to explain many of my dumb ass "incidents" to Jeff. I tend to run into trouble when he's out of town. Like, for example, the time he came home from a business trip and found 3/4 if our Dalmatian's coat was dyed pink (henceforth known as the "Exploding Blender Full of Daiquiris Incident") or the numerous times he had to drive my ass all over town to retrace my steps in an attempt to locate and retrieve my car (collectively known as the "I should write down where I parked before I get my drink on and catch a cab home" incidents).
But tonight? I'm going to have to explain to him how I ended up with a giant bite mark on my inner thigh while he was out of town. People, we have a winner.
I'm going to explain to you exactly what happened, and then I'd love some feedback on whether I should stick to the truth, come up with a convincing lie or just attempt to avoid letting him see that part of my anatomy until the bruise is gone and hope for the best.
Here's what (really) happened: Last week Jeff bought a jumbo-sized bag of dog food for Marley. I used the last of the old food in her dish last night, so I grabbed the new bag to empty into the storage container. It was really heavy, so I had to kind of squat down to get enough leverage to handle the bag. As always, Boomer and Marley were watching me intently in case I spilled a few kibbles onto the floor. Marley was on my left and Boomer was on my right. I had emptied about half the bag into the container when I lost my footing and landed on my butt, spilling a fair amount of food in the process. Boomer immediately lunged for the food. Marley immediately snapped at Boomer. My inner thigh got caught in the middle. Chaos ensued.
So now I've got a bite-shaped bruise (including teeth marks) that distinctly resembles a hickey right near my Business District. Just below The Chamber of Commerce, if you will. Explaining this one may be tricky.