At 9.45am this morning I was sitting on the curb in the car park outside Supervalue Supermarket crying large fat tears and trying to catch my breath. What I really wanted to do was kick the curb hard and shout "FUCKER" at it really loudly but I couldn't because I kick with my right foot and that was the one I twisted stepping down off the path and the knee on my left foot took a bashing when it took the brunt of my total weight as I sailed through the air and landed on it.
Two cars drove past me spread eagle on the tarmac and one lady came over to me and gave me her outstretched hand to help pull me up. I wanted to say
I DON'T WANT TO GET UP. I'VE PROBABLY BROKEN MY GOD DAMN ANKLE LADY. I WANT YOU TO GET ME A STRETCHER, CARRY ME TO AN AMBULANCE, DRIVE ME HOME, PUT ME IN BED AND TELL ME MY ANKLE WILL BE OK IN ONE HOUR.
but I didn't.
I sat up and stayed there for 10 minutes till it looked like I hadn't been crying and the searing pain in my ankle had subsided a little. I hobbled across the empty car park towards Supervalue when a young lady with a hip problem who walked with a limp got out of her car and smiled at me knowingly as we limped past each other. What are the chances of that?
I did a small shop for essentials; milk, bread, a new leg and hobbled down this one street town and up the hill home. Now I have an ice pack on my ankle, a coffee beside me and a good enough excuse for not washing the hardwood floors like I'd planned.
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