As of late my blog has been a lot like a big red diary only instead of tracking wimpy behavior, I’ve been tracking my gimpy behavior.
Just a few weeks after being out of my sling I attended a barbecue and, within minutes, I was laying flat on my back, mojito all over my right arm and my nearly healed left wing tucked into my chest. Turns out, stamped concrete is quite slippery when wet. Like most who fall, I quickly looked around to see if anyone witnessed it (nobody did), attempted to get up and fell again. Third time was the charm and, luckily, I didn’t jack up my arm (again).
As the evening progressed, several other guests also slipped. I spoke with the homeowner about it and he said, “I fell earlier, before everyone got here, and I was only three whiskeys in.”
Not sure how his ass felt later but I know how mine felt – bruised. In addition, I’ve still got limited range of motion, my external rotation seems like a distant memory, and my hand has a tendency to do it’s own thing. In fact, at this rate, I’m thinking Buster and I should compare DNA.