One of the side-effects of being tall are the occasional head-wounds suffered when one forgets to properly duck through doorways, entrances, etc that were constructed with the average person's height in mind.
Case in point, our basement. And while I, a tall person, finished our basement, there were some restrictions I couldn't avoid -- like the air return vent that ran above near the bottom of the stairs. It was at a point where I couldn't avoid making a sloped ceiling that was just about an inch too low for my height.
Therefore, as I often have to do, I need to duck my head slightly while approaching the last two stairs coming into our basement.
On Saturday morning, however, with my first cup of coffee (as yet untouched) in hand, and an early morning desire to get into the den and work on a writing project, I failed to properly negotiate this maneuver (perhaps I was so excited to get to my desk and get writing) and whacked my head on the ceiling.
Of course, there was a time when there used to be hair there that might have softened the blow, or at least hidden the scar.
Five days later, the scar is almost entirely healed. But it was pretty nasty looking. For example, when Alexander woke up later that morning, the first thing he said to me was. "Where'd you get the lump on your head from, Dad?"