I have a misshaped forehead.
I need to make that known.
It is not flat.
My forehead has foothills but without the Rocky Mountains adding some majesty.
I fear what my hairline will recede to reveal.
Little kids come up to me and ask me what happened. They poke my lumps to see if they are squishy.
They are not.
Nerds come up to me speaking Klingon as if I know what they are saying.
Okay that last one hasn’t happened yet, but all the rest are true.
This doesn’t bother me. I’ve accepted it. I just hope, for the sake of any present or future offspring, that my condition is not genetically transferable.
I fear that it is.
I’ve finally encountered a problem with having forehead lumps.
When in a serious car accident, such as the one I was in Thursday, it is incredibly difficult to convince paramedics that I did not hit my head. "No seriously, lady with the latex gloves, I’ve been like this for years. I did not hit my head. You don't need to put that collar on me."
If I was a dishonest person I’m sure they could fetch me quite the settlement, but I am not such a person.
Fortunately Sheena was there to verify my story Thursday night. If she wasn’t I’m sure I would have spent all night at the hospital.
Oh wait, because my nine-month pregnant wife was in the accident with me we spent all night at the hospital. Maybe it would have been better if she weren’t there to corroborate my story.