The “I Just Noticed My Arm Is Dripping Blood From A Wound I Did Not Know I Had & Now My Girlfriend Is Making a Big Commotion About It & Drawing Attention To Us” Frown.
Moments before this, Henry pointed a jaunty man with a long & glorious mullet.
“He was in the bathroom with me and Chooch and I was glad I didn’t let Chooch go in alone.”
Then Henry noticed his MYSTERIOUS wound. There was a long crimson rivulet running down Henry’s forearm. I wanted to take a picture but he had scraped the now-dry blood off too quick. All that was left was a tiny little puncture mark. It was actually not very impressive or heroic, but it was probably worse than any casualty Henry suffered while in the SERVICE, except for maybe when his ego was curb-stomped by a Panamanian hooker’s denial.
Meanwhile, Mullet kept pivoting his head around to stare at us while he retreated.
“It just occurred to me that those two things did not happen through coincidence,” I shouted from the backseat of the car on the way home. (I let Andrea sit up front so she doesn’t get tormented by Chooch.) “That man stabbed you in the bathroom!”
“Yeah, Erin. That’s it exactly. He stabbed me in the forearm with a pencil.”
But then there’s always the zombie attack theory.