So. I coloured my hair the other night. Medium brown with a bit of red in it, which is pretty close to my natural colour except that my hair has been going grey since I was 24 and I’m still too vain to give in to it just yet. I did it myself from a box, and in the middle of the process I dropped the applicator bottle and it hit my shirt on the way down. It put a big stain on my shirt.
I am telling you this in case I randomly disappear, because frankly, that stain looks an awful lot like dried blood and under the wrong circumstances, and if I weren’t around to dispute the idea, someone might get the impression that I was stabbed in the stomach. (Was I watching gangster movies on the weekend? Yes, yes I was.)
Let me confirm that I was not and have never been stabbed in the stomach. Or anywhere. I actually work quite hard to avoid the types of situation that might result in a stabbing. (Although I’ve been told that I accidentally stabbed my best friend in the hand with a pencil in the fifth grade. I have no recollection of this, so I guess I blocked it out or something. She, however — oddly enough — remembers it quite well. She’s still my friend though, so I guess she didn’t hold it against me.) Just now I briefly considered taking a photo of my stomach for you to show how wonderfully unstabbed it is, but I am just not that confident about my abs or lack thereof. So you’ll just have to take my word for it.
I mean, I am writing this, so I think that’s some kind of proof anyway.
See this shirt here? Not evidence of anything.
My One Precious Life 