Monday, February 27, 2012


My oldest nephew turned 12 recently. He said he wanted to have a Paintball party.

He's a big University of Oklahoma fan. I usually don't make a big deal out of it, but I do generally try to wear something orange when I know he's going to be around. For his paintball party, I wore a bright orange Oklahoma State University shirt.

When we showed up, my brother-in-law pointed over at a table by the front door. "You need to sign a waiver," he said. "What? I'm not playing." "You are now!"

Before I knew it, I was being fitted for a mask. Puny little me, on a paintball field... in a bright orange shirt.

I'll pause here to give those who know me personally some time to complete their hysterical laughter.


So. It went badly. (surprise!) Three seconds into the first game I got nailed in the shoulder, hard.

Yes, there is a small bruise under that spot. No, I won't show you.

Turns out that when a paintball explodes on you, it quickly dries into this substance that's kind of a cross between cake frosting and candle wax. Before long, I looked like I'd had an accident while glazing donuts.

My left leg in particular was coated. If a couple of those shots had been about 6 inches higher I'd be singing soprano, if you know what I'm sayin'.

I've already told my sister that I won't be able to make Nephew's next paintball party. I'll be doing my hair that day.


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