I've Never Been Accused of Being Graceful...

 I just can't win. I was telling a friend it seems like our guardian angels have left us to our own devices because we just can't not hurt ourselves. I've had some pretty moronic accidents that have left me with bumps and bruise, accidents I couldn't recreate if you paid me. My one comfort was that at least I had a fun story to share. 

Then this happened...

My toes are hidden in the shadow. Promise.

On the plus side I had just gotten a pedicure.

 

I used to have an ankle here.

Thursday last week I stepped off a curb. That's it. That's what happened. Somewhere between the curb and the pavement my foot stopped supporting me. Or maybe I just needed to lie down? At any rate, I found myself forcefully moved to the ground.

After a moment of reflection and gratuitous cursing, I hauled my hinder off the ground and limped back to the van. Miney had accompanied me on my errand, but had applied all of her attention to her phone thus she did not see me disappear from the rearview mirror. If she had, she would have already been well versed on so many, many things. My ankle was throbbing, but Miney is unlicensed so I had to drive myself home. As I gingerly loaded myself into the van, she asked where we were headed next and I said, "Home, because I have fallen." She was unconcerned because I fall all the time, so what?

Well, by the time we got home, maybe ten minutes later, my ankle had swollen to an unbelievable size and the pain had become unbearable. It hurt like a bad dog when Babe pulled my sock off. My ankle bone was the size of a softball and it hurt. A lot.

I was so certain I had broken that bugger that I had Babe run me to the Carenow, but because I half-ass everything, it wasn't broken just severely sprained. The doc splinted my ankle and sent me on my way. Babe got me ice cream on the way home.

So now I'm gimping around the house on crutches or "death sticks," if you will. My lack of grace is amplified with crutches and I'm just waiting for one of Moe's shoes to pop up out of no where, trip me up and launch me into space. My dogs have decided the best way to help me is to walk ahead of me, then decide at the last moment to move to the left, no the right. Wait! Yes, the left.

One of the pups has also decided the best place to hang out is right under the recliner where I sit with my leg propped six feet in the air. So when I have to go to the bathroom, I have to make sure she gets out of the way because the kids would be upset if I accidently killed her in the chair.

Potty breaks are a fun trip in themselves as I have to push my stack of pillow to the left, reach for my crutches and make sure the foot rest snaps snuggly in place before I stand up, or it will pop back up and smack me in my ouchie ankle because, of course it would.

We're headed to Florida next week so I'm thankful it isn't broken. I need both feet for jellyfish stings and I am capable of bring sand inside without involving a clunky cast.

Update: It has been a year since I hurt myself (that time). I still walk with a limp and my ankle swells if I walk too far or stand too long. Clearly I am of an age where once it's broke it stays that way. The trip to Florida was fun. The place we rented was super tiny so crutches were just the best. Also, the floor was tiled because sand, so the grips on the bottom of my crutches had nothing to grip, but did make for a heart stopping slip and slide ride.

I made it out to the beach the first day, but the sand was difficult to traverse on crutches (you probably already knew that, but I'm not the brightest bulb on the tree) and my splint picked up a lot of sand, so I mostly hung out in our cabana.

I want to go to Florida again, but I'll plan to stay sedentary, wrapped in bubble wrap, for the weeks preceding the trip. 

I regret nothing!

                                                            

Oh, Rats...

 Freakin' furry monsters.

Earlier this year, Judy (our beloved Toyota Sienna) was sent to the Big Farm to retire. She'd put in sixteen years of hard labor and the wear was beginning to catch up with her. We had decided last year's high dollar repair was the last repair so when she was diagnosed with another high dollar repair, we pulled the plug. This left me without a vehicle, which was fine because I never go anywhere, but because Babe is the best, he was already scouting for a replacement.

A month or two later he found me a truck. OMG! I was so excited. However, that excitement was dampened a hair when I learned we'd have to drive half way across Texas to pick it up. No joke, it was five hours round trip. So not really half, but a whole day nonetheless. We decided to make a day of it so that worked out. We toured the jail where some guy murdered some other guy and then was murdered himself, and had some "meh" barbecue. Also, the previous owner was a smoker so I drove back with the windows down. Seventy mile per hour wind is a lot of wind, just so you know, and cigarette smoke permeates EV-ERY THING.

Anyway, now I've got an awesome truck with a liner and back-up camera and everything. The back-up camera is more on the annoying side because it beeps if you get too close to the car behind you. Which means it screams bloody murder if the tailgate is down, which happens sometimes. No I don't accidently leave the tailgate down, if that's what you're thinking.

My first order of business was to get some dirt so I could load it into my truck. Woot! Also, I needed dirt for the Garden of Contention which will get some attention in another post. Anyhoo, I have since made several trips to the dump, helped my sister move and pretty much filled that bed as often as I can. If you need something hauled, just call!

So, here we are not five month later and I was helping out a friend by taking her child to gymnastics. As the site of the class was in the middle of friggin no where, I waited in the truck for the clock to run out. About half an hour into my idle, my truck kind of sputtered and then stopped. 

It started right up, so I didn't think too much about it until the next day when it threatened to die at a stoplight. I went to AutoZone to have my battery and alternator checked and they weren't the problem. I checked the air filter. It wasn't that. I made sure the gas cap was tightened, and checked the windshield wiper fluid as well as the blinker fluid, for good measure.

After running my errands, I was headed back home when all of a sudden I was coasting down the street. Thankfully, it was the street to my house so I coasted into the driveway. I tried starting the truck several times and the one or two times it turned over, it immediately died again. I could hear my debit card start sobbing from my wallet. Awesome.

After some googling, consulting with my male siblings, and hoping against hope, I was no closer to an answer. So I took Pixie (that's her name) to the mechanic. 

The drive short, but anxiety inducing. She died at the first light where I was paused to turn right. It took several tries to start her up again. Then, I found myself in a school zone so I got to creep ever so slowly and sweat ever so profusely through that. Then, I found myself behind two of the slowest drivers ever to grace this earth. I couldn't change lanes because they were in both of them. I was beginning to worry I might have to push my truck the rest of the way to the mechanic when one of the cars finally moved up enough that I could get around both of them, but Pixie was stuttering and pulling so I wasn't sure how much longer she would last. And then the check engine light popped on. The suspense was thrilling. Would I make it in time? Would I have to push my track for the last few miles? Would there be anyone to help or would they all stare wide-eyed and stupefied as they passed? Should I just leave her on the side of the road? I had a lot of time to think while I was behind those two morons.

I just made it to the garage when she died again so I coasted into a spot and let her rest. A day later, I got the prognosis. Rats had gotten up under the hood and gone to town on a few of the sensors. And I had an oil leak. 

What is it about plastic coating that rats find so delicious? 

The repair or "check for one rat's meal" cost us three car payment. Imma find that rat and take those three car payments out of it's hide. Imma skin it and hang it's pelt in the back window of my truck as a warning to it's wife and progeny. Also, now I'm a little bit paranoid it will happen again. I've heard peppermint is a deterrent. So if you smell candy canes, it's probably me. I'm also looking into sonic boom tech to cause the little rodents auditory damage. They also invaded my garden and shat in my planters so they have it coming.

Damn rats.