Ain't Chicken

Saturday, October 20, 2007

I do not freaking care what he says. It is all his fault.

If it weren't for the fact that he did this great thing that made me very proud of him, I wouldn't have gone to the grocery store to buy the Crunch 'n Munch as a congratulations present.

And if I hadn't bought the Crunch 'n Munch to congratulate him, I wouldn't have had to get it out of the car.

And if I hadn't needed to get it out of the car, I wouldn't have been naked in the garage, leaning over the passenger door of my zoomzoom, stretching to reach down into the floor well to get the bag the Crunch 'n Munch was in when I heard the automatic garage door opener start to open the garage door.

And if he hasn't hit his remote to open the garage door when he pulled into the driveway, I wouldn't have had the fastest string of thoughts ever in my life shoot through my brain - Garage Door! Opening! Carol! Naked! In Garage! RUNHIDE!RUNHIDE!RUNHIDE!

So it is his fault that I had this chemical flight reaction - there was no "fight or flight" - what the hell would I have fought? - of jerking up from the inside of the car and attempting to twist my left leg to the left and sprint to the left all at the same time because the only cover in the garage was to the left - at the back of my little zoomzoom. There was no way I could make it to the door into the house in time.

The problem is that, when my lizard brain flipped my body to the left to run from utter mortification, the sound that came out of my ankle was POP.

And that is why it is my husband's fault that I am propped up in the living room with my horrifically painful ankle on a footrest, happy that I have a stock of legally prescribed opiates on hand at all times. Happy that after I was recovered enough from The Accident that instead of getting rid of my Durable Medical Equipment I thought, you never know when you're going to need a cane, or a walker, or a wheelchair. Cause, well, ya know.....