Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, young princess ( sounds better than an old hag, doesn’t it?), who had just bought a brand new camera with a super zoom lens to take pictures of the tall ships that were congregating in her village for a once-in-a-lifetime event. Okay, let’s just cut to the chase. After an unfortunate event, the princess asked her long-suffering mirror, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the klutziest of them all?”
That would be me. I broke my foot last night in one of those flash moments you wish you could do over. It started with my husband calling me before he came home from work, asking me if I’d like him to pick up some wine to have with dinner. We usually don’t drink any wine except as a treat on the weekends, but the day was gorgeous and sunny, and we decided to bend the rules. My husband walked in with three bottles of wine and asked me which one I would like him to open. I went for the most expensive one, a cabernet. He poured glasses for both of us and we took them out to the patio. I only had a sip or two before I went to the refrigerator in the garage and pulled out a box of frozen green beans. “I’m going to get these started while you throw the brats on the grill,” I told my hubby. I grabbed my glass of wine in the other hand and started through the screen door. Unfortunately, my sweatshirt caught on the door handle, and not realizing it, I kept going before it jerked me back. I had no free hand to grab onto anything, even if there had been something to grab onto. I teetered. I tottered. But there was no help for me. I managed to not drop the glass, though there wasn’t a drop of wine left in it, rolling my foot horribly. I yelled for my husband, and he came running in and saw me sitting on the floor in a puddle of red.
“Oh, my God, what happened? Where does it hurt?” He thought I was losing all my blood, but when he saw my empty glass, he realized it was wine and relaxed a little. Long story short, we went to the emergency room, my foot is indeed broken, and I will be out of commission for a good couple of months. I will miss seeing my beautiful ships.
Now let me tell you how this works. I am like my father. If he ever got sick, he went into his room and closed the door and didn’t come out until he was all better. He did not want anyone fussing over him. I hate that I am in this position of being essentially helpless. I hate putting anyone out, I hate having my poor hubby do so much for me, and I don’t want to repeat this story again. That’s why it is in such detail. This post is not for you, dear Readers. It is for my family and friends. I do not want them to call and say, “You poor thing.” I don’t want them to ask me for any more details. If they come and visit, I want them to ignore my foot, don’t even glance its way, and pretend this whole thing never happened. If I could just go in my room and close the door until I’m all better, I would do that, but six weeks seems a long time to go without food. And human contact, of course.
So there you have it. You will not be getting any fabulous pictures from me from my fabulous new camera. If you are my friends or family, you will not pick up that phone and call me and make me talk about this. And if I’ve learned anything from this, it’s that I should have chosen the Malbec. What a waste of good wine.