In Other Words

Liana is a Silly Goat

Last night Liana demonstrated, once again, that she’s a silly goat. We were out about town, near the Hard Rock café with a large group scattered about the area, four of us were standing outside and while three of us decided where we were going to go, Liana decided to entertain herself by sliding down the railing on a staircase. Of course she had concocted this mad plan while she was, well, lets not mince our words, drunk as a skunk.

She didn’t just try once (which went poorly, as her balance was off and her skirt was riding up) or twice, no she tried a grand total of five times, nearly falling each time, squeaking like a little girl in a playground. I myself was a little bit too preoccupied with trying to decide where to drink our night cap to finish the evening. (after which we would have had to have a second night cap, to help the first one find its way to our stomach. Of course, that one would doubtlessly have gotten lost and needed a third friend. Then, just to be certain the first three were ok, we would need to do a fourth and a fifth in quick succession, so that they could hold each other’s hands as they helped the first three along).
Suddenly a see Liana topple and hear her squeal turn from pure enjoyment to one of fear and pain. She had successfully managed to fall off the railing and smash her head on the stone steps.

The blood, wow. There was a lot of blood. She managed to bleed enough to turn the sleeve of one white shirt solid red, while her own shirt ended up spattered with ‘artistic blotches’.

Head wounds always bleed a lot and the three of us quickly established that the cut in her head wasn’t actually that big. We pressed ice to the cut and quickly fled to Shazam’s place, nearby. There we monitored the situation carefully (muttering such phrases as ‘damn’ and ‘that’s a lot of blood’ ‘we need to disinfect!’ and ‘no more alcohol for her! Give it to me instead’)

The bleeding stopped within about ten minutes and she said her head wasn’t hurting, she wasn’t seeing spots, she didn’t feel like she had to throw up or any of the other tell tale signs of a concussion. So we established, together, that a clinic visit was not necessary.

I took her home, gave her a pain killer, just in case and decided, at that time, that she truly was a silly goat.

At least she’s a silly goat that always manages to keep the evenings exciting and stimulating, intended or not. At least she’s my silly goat.
Cheers to that.

Interesting fact: Ketchup was sold in the 1830s as medicine.

posted by Symbol @ 21.8.04