It was finally spring again in DC this past weekend. I spent most of Saturday sitting on a blanket in Dupont Circle with Larina (who was in town visiting) and Cicie. It was fabulous. What irked me earlier that day was that I couldn't find my shorts. After I returned from my trip back in September, I think I stashed them somewhere (perhaps in the Jerz?) and now I don't know where they might be. Just a moment ago, though, I realized that I should probably avoid shorts for a bit, regardless of the weather. Returning from my bathroom wearing only my underthings (people across the globe are suddenly extremely turned on, I'm sure), I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My legs are wrecked. I look like I was attacked by a gang of little people wielding sticks.
Both knees have nearly-faded bruises (from some crazy dance moves at Chief Ike's over a week ago). My left knee also has a serious scrape scab and another bruise (from taking a dive off the edge of a sidewalk while I was trying to pass some stupid tourists). My left foot is bruised in two places and scraped on the side (from the same incident...I hate tourists SO much that flames...flames on the side of my face...heaving, breathless, heaving breaths...heaving....*). My newest injuries came earlier this evening. I came home to my messy apartment and decided that some laundry might be a good idea. When I pulled down my laundry basket, somehow the two framed pictures I had been storing on my closet shelf decided to come down with it. (If you're wondering why they were in my closet, well, I've been meaning to hang them up for about 2 years now but who's got the time?) One frame (actually not a picture -- it's my TFA "diploma") somehow managed to not break. The other picture -- in a large, metal frame -- did break, but it wasn't the glass that injured me (thankfully). The aforementioned large (did I mention heavy?) metal frame first gashed my right ankle then landed on my toe (not the little toe, the one right next to it).
Needless to say, instead of doing laundry, I immediately retreated to my bed with some pepperoni pizza for a night of DVR. Does anyone know how to tell if a toe is broken?
[*If you can tell me what movie I'm quoting, I'll buy you a popsicle.]
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4 comments:
Clue. Madeline Khan. Brilliant.
Where's my creamsicle, biatch?
No, really. Where's my creamsicle?
Oh, Alessandro - I found you!
You're the only guy who I could tell to "go fuck yourself" and you'd take it as a compliment.
Fascinated as to who "anonymous" is. ... Who are you masked (wo)man?
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