An Unfortunate Break

I have an unfortunate tendency (inherited from my mother) to walk into things like walls, doors and other moving objects. I always have at least two or three bruises on my legs, and I have broken various toes several times over the years. Despite ten years of ballet...graceful, I am not!

On our last vacation alone, I managed to misjudge a set of steps and sprain a couple of toes, cutting and bruising my foot in the process (so much for romantic moonlight walks--somehow, gushing blood, hopping around like a demented rabbit and swearing like a sailor isn't a turn-on. Go figure)

I also smashed my knee on the steps in the kiddie pool, again cutting and bruising it (no hopping this time, just sinking like a stone). Oddly enough, I did not expect steps six feet down in the "kiddie pool" since the adults only pool was just four feet deep. Nor could I figure out why the swim-up bar was there. How exactly does that logic go...get the kids liquored up, then make them swim through six foot deep water to safety? Why not put a few great whites into the pool too? Just to make it more interesting.

Anyway, Tim is convinced that he will be arrested one day for spousal abuse. Although there is the time that he broke my arm...(sweetie, you had to know this story would eventually make the blog!)

Our house has hardwood floors throughout. Days after we moved in, we had friends coming over, and Tim volunteered (was drafted) to clean the floors. The last words out of my mouth as he headed out to the store were, "Don't get Endust. It makes the floors too slippery."

Of course, he heard, "Get Endust," and the rest, as they say, is history.

Hours later, as I headed downstairs to get a refill for my glass of water and tell Tim that I was going to bed, disaster (and Endust) struck. Holding onto the railing (safety first), I took the first step with my foot and the next thirteen with my backside and left elbow. Strangely, some instinct made me protect the expensive crystal glass from K-Mart, but not my own elbow!

Of course, Tim wanted me to go to the ER (on a Friday night? There's eight hours sucked out of your life), but I refused.

The next morning, after half a bottle of Tylenol and almost no sleep, he tried again. And again, I refused. We had an appointment at the furniture store and it was the last day of a storewide clearance! Was he insane? What was a sore arm compared with fifty percent off!!!

As we pondered tables, chairs and couches, I began to suspect I had made the wrong decision. I lost interest in colors and styles, fabrics and wood grains. After receiving a less than enthusiastic response to a couch he had chosen, Tim lost his patience. He turned to me and said (here it was---the mother of all mistakes) "Suck it up and walk it off!"

Now some people are surprised that I didn't kill him instantly, but where would the fun be in that? Instead, I have meted out his punishment slowly over the last ten years. Whenever he thinks he is right about a particular issue we are debating, I will grab ahold of my poor, sore arm, and quote, "Suck it up and walk it off". There is no defense.

Ultimately, we did go to the ER (after lunch. Please. Saturday in the ER? We could be there until lunchtime on Sunday, the way they move and you have to have your priorities in life!)
where I was diagnosed with a green twig fracture.

The worst part of the whole ordeal though, came during the next few weeks when Tim had to wash and dry my (then waist long) hair every day. At least on this vacation, I only chipped my (toe)nail polish!