I am a menace. To myself, that is. The rest of the planet is safe....well, unless you happen to be walking behind me, close enough to catch a flailing arm as I attempt a hack-kneed swan dive in the middle of the sidewalk, complete with a set of shrieking howls resembling those of mating alley cats. And dear God help you if you are in front of me when I'm attempting to negotiate the spinny door at the hospital or board the escalator in the mall. (stupid things should have harnesses) There will be causalities. Why, do you ask, do I provide such entertainment on a regular basis for the throngs that gather?
Oh baby, I was born this way.
While reaching for the salad dressing the other night, I was stopped by my husband's: "Oh my WORD honey, what did you DO to your hand?!?" I'm totally blank. "Hmmm?" I ask. "Look at your hand!" he points to the fingers clutching the blue cheese like I'm about to be robbed. Upon closer inspection, I began to count....two burns, a slice across my ring finger, my first knuckle was missing, and there is an inch and a half gash down the center of my hand. Admittedly, it was a hot mess. "This is the new sexy." I told him.
I remember losing the knuckle while adjusting my stationary bike. (imagine my husband laughing out loud as I'm attempting to explain this. "You got hurt riding a stationary bike?!") The gash was acquired while cleaning under the microwave which had a previously unknown broken plastic thingy that removed my flesh like Satan's melon baller--of course I irritate it every time I get my phone out of my pocket or put gloves on, so I've jacked it up even more. The rest?
Not. A. Clue.
It's been like this for--ever. Today is my birthday and I have been a poster child for band aides and neosporin for so long I should demand shares in the company! (right now my left knee is a stunning rainbow of color as I dropped the largest drawer in the guest room dresser two days ago and caught it with my leg) I think I've developed some kind of pain nerve memory block. Honestly, you could hold a gun to my head and demand to know how I bruised the entire back of my arm last week and I would have to die. I have NO recollection whatsoever! I fall UPstairs. I trip over carpets like a drunk ballerina with a death wish. I now have an escort that seems to follow me around Home Depot, I think they were worried there would be lawsuits.
Years ago I went to visit one of my best friends in Florida. It was to be a romp of a weekend; fly down on Friday, back on Sunday. I left a chipper, smiling girl with a bounce in her step. 48 hours later I returned with the skin missing from half my face (scraped it along the bottom of a pool), limping (pulled my hamstring in a wild game of cosmic bowling), and gasping like an emphysema commercial as I had caught some plague while guzzling the apartment complex pool water. I had to get shots. Missed a week of work to recover from that "two day girl get-a-way."
I couldn't watch The Hangover. It was entirely too real.
I think we should have punch cards for the doctor's office...."nine visits and the tenth one is FREE!"