Her Hypothesis Is Out Of Step

(I tripped and fell down a flight of concrete/gravel composite stairs two days before my 18th birthday. I ended up spending four hours in the ER as the doctors had to untangle my braces from my lip and remove a piece of gravel that had went all the way through my lower lip. I ended up with a mass of black stitches, a very fat lip, and a very black eye. A few days later, looking much the worse for wear, I go to the grocery store.)

Me: *minding my own business, browsing the produce*

Little Old Woman: “You don’t have to stay with him, dear.”

Me: “Huh? I’m sorry?”

Little Old Woman: “You don’t have to stay with him; there are people you can contact to get help.”

Me: *catching on to the fact she thinks I’ve been abused* “Oh, no, I’m okay, I just fell down some stairs.”

Little Old Woman: “I’m sure that’s what he told you to say, but really, you can get help.”

Me: “Seriously, I just fell down some stairs. I’m okay.”

Little Old Woman: “Well, if you decide to get help, here are some people to help you.” *hands me a card to a local women’s shelter*

(As she turned to leave, my roommate walks up to me, and the little old woman gave him the dirtiest glare before huffing off.)