I almost never wear my glasses, although fortunately on Saturday night I had them on. They flew off my face, and when jdsalmon found them for me on the lawn, one lens was covered in soot. My eye was dripping like a faucet and it stung badly. I realized I could still see out of it, though, so I was not in a complete panic.
I was ushered into the house and I tried to flush any debris out with water. Then I sat on the lawn, far away from the pyrotechnics, as I anesthetized myself with another pint.
I told my family the next day that I had been walking down the street when I saw some teenagers playing with illegal fireworks. They set some off that went careening straight towards a woman with a stroller with adorable triplets! I dove into the path of the fireworks and took the brunt of the explosion with my face, thus saving the babies. However, in doing so I managed to knock the mother over the side of the bridge and into the Huron, where she bobbed down the river, crying for help! What could I do, but stare helplessly as she floated away, gurgling and screaming, but take the triplets to the liquor store and tell the employee there that I found these cute kids by the dumpster around back?
For some reason, even though the rest of the family was laughing, my 82-year-old grandmother believed me hook, line, and sinker. She was very proud of me for sacrificing myself for the babies, but hoped the mother was okay and thought maybe I could have left the children someplace other than a liquor store.
It's okay now--it just looks like I got punched.