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| Momma couldn't have hurt a fly had she tried. |
It wasn't Mike Tyson nor George Foreman. It wasn't even Rick Marshman -- the red-headed bully who lived up the street from Grandma and Grandpa. Nope, it wasn't Dad, or even my big sister, Holly. The honor of giving me my first (and only, by the way) bloody nose was none other than you, Momma. There I was on the couch enjoying Saturday morning cartoons while you sat in your rocking chair and chatted with me. Suddenly, one of my sarcastic barbs sent you into action as you pounced on me like a cat. I remember being so startled that my body contorted and my knee popped my nose. The best part was when I was holding the tissue to stop the bleeding while comforting my very distraught mother, who through tears and wails explained, "I just wanted to rough house with you like your dad does!" I love my bloody-noser of a mother.
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