There was this other story I meant to include in yesterday's entry, but I completely forgot about it until a comment by Julie triggered my memory. And then I went and told the story (kind of ) in the comments section, which was DUMB because it's a GREAT STORY and deserves BETTER, especially because it involves me GETTING HURT.
So if you haven't read the comments section: Good. Don't. If you have read the comments section and already know about the story I'm going tell: *waves hand mysteriously*
(I just erased your memory using the Force. Did it work? I bet it totally worked.)
Last week Jason and I were outside on the back deck, dueling via the Lightsaber app on our phones. (BECAUSE OF COURSE WE WERE.) "Dueling" mostly entails waving your phone back and forth a lot and pretending to block your opponent's imaginary lightsaber blade. It's kind of like playing on the Wii, only with way less dignity.
Anyway, we were getting pretty into it (OF COURSE WE WERE) but were also sitting way too close to each other, so after a few minutes Jason swung his phone down wildly and *CRACKCRASH* whalloped the side of my hand, directly on my knuckle. This hurt like a fucking bitch, to put it nicely. The phone hit me so hard that it then flew out of Jason's grip and sailed a good three feet in the air before landing on the deck.
Faced with a yowling injured wife and an airborne iPhone, Jason dove after his phone while I dug ice cubes out of my cocktail to hold on my throbbing hand. He picked it up and reported that "it was fine" and moreover, the stupid goddamn Lightsaber app had just declared him the winner of our duel.
"CURSES!" I shouted. "I shall go build myself a robot hand and come back to defeat you, asshole."
Anyway. That's also kind of why hard and unyeilding lightsaber toys are probably not a good choice for anyone in our family right now, myself included. Thank y'all for the many links to all the the soft stuffed/knitted versions available out there, which are absolutely delightful. (I'm especially partial to the catnip-filled felt version.) Also thanks for the various ideas re: the Yellow Letters In Space request. I think Noah will be thrilled with any of those suggestions, considering this is what he came up with in the meantime:
Three soundtrack CDs, lined up end to end, which he slowly pushes upward while humming the theme music. I honestly have no idea where he gets his weirdness from. Especially since his parents are the absolute epitome of perfectly normal, sane human beings. Other than our weekly imaginary lightsaber duels in the backyard, of course.
(My bruise is almost gone, which means IS REMATCH TIMEZ NAO.)