I came home from work last week, Angie had just gotten out of the bath. She was wet, half-naked and only had a towel on, but I checked her out anyway.'What the hell happened to your knee?'
'What...uh...I don't...uh...what was the question?'
'Your knee - the one with the pancake bruise on it. How did you get that?'
I've known Angie for over a decade. After five years, you start to know when the other person is lying. After ten years, you can also tell whether they're lying to avoid getting caught or to avoid embarrassment. I smell red cheeks.
After many indirect questions, several direct ones, and one threat to snatch her only clothing and towel-snap her in the ass, I got a version of the truth.
'I took Tommy to the indoor playground today and they have trampolines, which he found fascinating. I didn't really want to go and jump on them; I just did that to make Tom happy. Yeah, tt wasn't for me at all; no. Tom was having such a ball that he wanted to jump higher. At least that's what I think he wanted. The funny thing is, when you jump really, really, REALLY high on a trampoline, you sometimes start to flip. And so the next thing I knew...'
My pointing and laughing somehow interrupted her 'explanation', but I think that even Paul Harvey would not need the rest of the story. To make a long story embarrassing, Mama's knee was the saving grace that kept Tommy's face from smashing into the frame of the trampoline. The bruise was black, it was blue and it looked extremely painful, but I laughed at it anyway.
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