I’ve had two black eyes in my life. They both came in events so innocent that I can share the stories later.

That’s pretty amazing in itself.

I blame the first one on needing to pick up an elective class in my last semester of college. I chose an auto mechanics class for women.

The class unraveled the mysteries of internal combustion and banished all ideas of needing to replace lug nut valves on my car. Amazing class.

One of our projects was learning how to change the oil on our cars. It’s not that hard to do. Really.

Something that helps is having the right tools, which I didn’t have and didn’t want to spring big bucks for. So I made do.

Making do is a key element in too many of my stories, I’ve noticed.

But I digress.

I had a pipe wrench to loosen the oil pan drain plug. I clamped the wrench on the drain plug  and then hammered the handle with whatever I could find. A hammer. A lead pipe. A big rock.

The wrench was beginning to move as the drain plug loosened. And then something happened.

“Something happened” could be my motto, now that I think about it…

But the wrench popped loose and bounced off my cheek. I could feel something warm below my eye and assumed I had knocked loose a contact lens.

So I made my way into the house to retrieve the lens.

Um, no, the lens was fine. But I had a one-inch gash from the errant wrench.

And the next day I had a Nike-swoosh-quality black eye.

I’d love to tell you that I learned not to make do. Or not use the wrong tool.

But my absolute best solution to this problem was when I married a top-quality mechanic who never let me change the oil again.