Have you ever been to a rainbow party?

Maybe they’re mythical—like unicorns or Canada. (It’s unfortunate, because Canada sounds like a nice place).

One day, my husband and I had dinner plans with his mom. Engrossed in conversation, we exited the Washington, D.C. Metro.

And I got punched in the face.

So much blood—at least two drops or more. Just enough to make me look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 

We looked at my attackers. The attackers stared back, curious how we would retaliate.

I cut them deep with my words.

Would have been a lot cooler if he did… (The way Matthew McConaughey says it in Dazed and Confused).

Canceling plans due to “I got punched in the face” feels weird.

On TV, there were rumors about teenagers punching strangers in the face. I’d placed those rumors in the same category as rainbow parties: possibly fake.

Maybe rainbow parties ARE real.

After composing myself, we continued to dinner with my mother-in-law.

We tried to enjoy dinner but there was a crying baby in the restaurant.

After dinner, we walked to the theater.

I totally held it together.

At the theater, I grabbed a playbill.

The play began with a spotlight shining on a disturbed elderly woman screaming like a wailing baby. 

Then my husband said something really mean.

Three hours???

The wrong person got punched in the face that day.

I later confided in friends about the punching incident.

Should he have left me alone and bleeding?

Is that something people do?

I felt like a turd.

I don’t think I had a cunty look on my face.

What joke with the peanut?

END OF PART 1

Read PART TWO