[...] Next morning, I arose and realized that moving my arm was kinda difficult. No problem, it was probably from shooting the gun. It was a little stiff. I walked into the kitchen in my pajamas, my mother said 'Good morning, dear' and stopped short. Eyeballs popped out. "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" she hollered.

I replied with an alert, "Huh?"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" she bellowed, her voice rising in hysteria.

"Heck, ah dunno." I headed to the bathroom for a look, in the meantime, my mother started yelling my Dad's name and rushing through the house looking for him.

I got to the bathroom mirror, slid my pajama top over a little and my eyes popped out, too. My whole shoulder was a deep, bloody purple. I looked like a battered child. But you know, it still didn't really hurt...it just looked awful. I wiggled my fingers around a little, raised my arm...yah, that's a little sore, but its nothing to cry over. I mashed on the bruises a little...ouch, yup, don't wanna do that again.

My mother, by this time, had located my father and was chasing him through the house beating on him with a dishtowel (probably the only thing handy she could find).

"WHAT (whap!) DID (whap!) YOU (whap!) DO (whap! whap!) TO (whap!) MY (whap!) CHILD (whap! whap!)" she yelled.

My father, completely taken off guard, was dodging her and dancing around the kitchen, "What? what? We fired the gun, what IS the matter with you?!"

"SHE'S PURPLE!" my mother wailed. She was winding up for another dishtowel whap when I reappeared in the kitchen. Mom stopped to catch her breath.

My dad's eyes popped out. "Oh my gawd," he screeched, "Mah baby! NOW I understand why you were whapping me. Here! Whap me again!"[...]