I was fully prepared to accept my crown as the queen of this insult war Sensei and I play. Then he responded.
Admittedly, not bad, though he’s used that one before.
In honor of always wanting to try new things, particularly when they’re recommended by blog buddies, this is the drink I ordered at the restaurant.
On our way home, Hubby and I decided to stop by the gas station. We waited for a car to pull away, then pulled up to the middle pump, right behind…
“Well, hello there,” I said, hopping my good foot out the passenger door, leaving the bad one resting inside.
“Okay, where’d you hide the tracker in my car?”
“The Universe knew you couldn’t bear waiting until Thursday, so here I am.”
What are the odds?!
I had been driving my girls to Taekwondo and sitting in the back, watching, checking Twitter, reading blogs, etc. But getting into the gym requires hopping up and down a set of 16 stairs. Now seven weeks into my inability to walk, my “good” foot has begun to protest this abuse and overuse. My heel constantly throbs, the ball only slightly less so.
No longer able to brave those stairs, I now sit in my van in the dark parking lot to check Twitter, read blog posts, etc, especially since Stuart has been giving me a hard time about not keeping up with him. ;P
My insurance appeal was finally approved. My MRI will be Nov. 26. Hopefully it won’t take weeks to get the results. Praying this is not a surgery situation. I truly have no idea what to expect. The range could be:
“Your foot is fine. Take the brace thingy off and start walking, you wuss!”
“Holy cow. This is bad! You must be super tough. You ought to be in agony.”
I’m really hoping for something akin to being called a wimp than a super hero. But given that the ball of that foot and the toes are still swollen, and my ginger attempts to put weight on it continue to fail, it doesn’t look likely I’ll have the privilege of being insulted by my doctor.
At least I still have Sensei for that.