and ended up in an ungraceful heap of limbs and curse words.
Yup, I have yet again downed a bottle of graceful pills and gone cartwheeling around my apartment. Yesterday, I tried (that being the operative word here) to step over the baby gate that blocks off the entryway and kitchen (aforementioned gate now being called, "that Mother*#%&!ing piece of *#%$") and caught my toe once again, sending me hurtling towards the floor, only to catch my foot AGAIN on a nearby tote (keeps Booga from opening the Mother*&%#!ing piece of *&$%) and wrenched my back, leg, and side. Pleasant. Yes, folks, please do not attempt this at home, as I am a trained clumsy ass, and only trained clumsy asses should attempt stunts like this.
Well, I attempted to go to work last night and survived two and a half hours before limping away like a kicked dog (I even whimpered a couple times). Honestly though, I never had any idea how hard it is to lean in and out of the window handing out drinks and taking money. I have never been in pain like that before. (My darling husband met me at the door with a half a pain pill in hand) I swear, every time I hurt myself, I push my pain tolerance threshold to new levels. I know Hubby is rolling his eyes and thinking, "Sure. Just an excuse to call in", but no, really. If I had a morphine drip, I'd be mashing that button like nobodies business. This morning, it sang me an aria as I picked Booga up to change him and now I would really like to go to bed and stay there for the rest of my life. I really try to put on a funny show and downplay things if I can, but this is hard to do right about now. At least I can tell you guys and not have an eye roll. Or feel like a puss.
I may be a puss and a wuss, but hey.
At least I can knit.
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