The pain of knocking your head into a cabinet door.
The pain in knowing that it was all your fault.
The pain in answering the humiliating question of “Dad, why do you have an ice pack on your head?” over and over and over again.
The pain you are being, when you still insist on driving your family to the ballgame, while looking like a fool, because you have an ice pack on your stubborn ass head.
The pain and embarrassment the you feel, when you decide to sit in the car and miss the first two innings, because ice packs just ain’t fashionable enough for public consumption.
By the way, “Dad, why do you have an ice pack on your head?” The pain, it’s back.
Harv has the unenviable talent of being able to whack his head on the corner of one of our cabinets – the hanging cabinet over our stove. The counter is a couple of inches wider than the cabinet but not wide enough to prevent him from colliding with the corner of the cabinet every so often but so far not hard enough to require an ice pack.
:0) As for me, I think I’ll avoid that cupboard for a long, long time.