So last night, I was in the middle of composing a new blog post entitled “In Praise of Rulebreakers” thanking the anonymous fellows who were illegally driving down the road marked “authorized delivery vehicles only” (think: UPS, FedEx, singing telegrams) when I (birthday cake in tow) took the now infamous ankle-spraining tumble (see my previous entry). These two Samaritans stopped their car, thereby increasing the risk of being spotted and apprehended by campus law enforcement officers, and insisted on driving me to my lab.
Mid-blogging, the wife and I decided to go out for ice cream. I saved what I had written so far, and (with some pain) put on my shoes and socks. My wife and Watson (our faux labradoodle) were the first to go outside. By the time I had made it to the door, Watson had found the neighbor dog, and they were frolicking by our front steps. I reached down to pet the neighbor dog, when my uninjured ankle did a little wobble wobble. I kid you not: I sprained my second ankle in two days. This time, I fell the distance of two steps to the grassy lawn in front of our house.
“Are you okay?” my wife asked, rushing to help me up.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Let’s just get to the car,” I replied, hurrying to my feet, embarrassed by my most recent collision with the ground. Our neighbor hastened to the scene of the crash, but I quickly brushed off the dirt and grass, and darted (as best I could on two swollen, unyielding ankles) to the car.
This morning, I have two bruised ankles, and an ego to match. I probably won’t be leaving this couch for a while.