I wish the black eye was a result of a bar brawl, or a ruthless fight for a brides bouquet, or even a clumsy drunken spill into a doorknob. Any story would make for considerably more luscious talk at happy hour or over dinner with people who didn’t know better.

Instead, I’m forced to reveal that I spent the weekend with The Mc and one extra large, uncharacteristically friendly kitty, that I fell victim to her charm and that I showed her affection. In return, my body rebelled in a poignant and half-assed passive aggressive manner. A fracking black eye via newly discovered allergies because I was nice to a cat. Of course. Because this is my life.