When I was a kid, if I would complain about, say, a scraped knee, my dad would check it out, apply proper treatment and then send me on my way. Later, when I (invariably) whined about it still hurting, dad would pinch my arm and then ask if my knee still hurt.
Note: I only fell for this a few times before I quit whining to dad.
While slightly sadistic, dad's theory works: new pain makes you forget about existing pain.
When "playing Star Wars" with Spot and Rover, I know I got whacked a few times with the "light sabres" but didn't really pay attention to any of the hits except the blow to the face. It hurt real bad.
It's now, three days later, that I realize I also took a pretty significant blow to the knee and wrist. I recall being hit multiple times in multiple spots, but according to the bright purple bruises on my knee and wrist, those were big hits.
I made sure to show Pickle (who is expecting a boy) my injuries, to let her know what to expect. Or at least, what her nanny can expect.
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