Bruised Ambitions

I knew this was an almost certainly not a smart move before I did it. I was reminded of exactly how unwise it was as I was in the process of attempting it. And I knew exactly how moronic it was with new emphasis afterwards, while dealing with the painful ramifications of my unhindered stupidity.

I fell off a stool in my closet tonight while trying to hoist a 700 bazillion pound set of stacking luggage up to the top shelf so I could store it. Up high. Out of the way. And poised to fall on hapless heads of people who routinely visit the closet. This fatally flawed concept (storing enormously heavy, bulky objects on a narrow top shelf) undertaken with utter disregard to safety (me using a feeble, rickety stool - which is older than I am - while trying to lift something much heavier than me well above my head, by myself) led to me getting hurt. And it is my own doggone fault.

Thank God nothing was broken in the resounding crash and fall that followed my stroke of sheer genius.

I became the filling in the stool/luggage sandwich last night with my legs sadly bearing most of the brunt of it. The stool and the gargantuan 4-piece luggage set both came smashing down onto my calves in rapid succession, rendering them temporarily fairly useless. I cried. Copper came sprinting to the rescue with ice, heat, compresses and kisses. My hero. God bless him. If only I was the true damsel in distress instead of the unwise woman attempting ridiculous luggage lofting manuevers in her closet. I would have felt more deserving if I hadn't brought this on myself.

Brilliant from the get-go, this plan.

My souvenir reminder of this lovely event is still making itself fully manifest, but has managed quite an impressive start thus far. That would be the charming deep wine, grape, black, blue, and yellow hued pattern of bruising that now clearly marks a large portion of my legs ~ particularly my right one ~ from the back of my knee to well below my calf. It bangs like a drum with every step, but my limp is improving already. Every time I remove the heat wrap, I see that the bruise has grown and deepened. It's like the national debt.

But there is a potential bright side. If the brusing pattern morphs into anything remotely resembling the Virgin Mary, perhaps I can light candles and charge admission to my leg?

For my dear Catholic friends, please forgive my jest. I would never charge you. For you, my leg shrine will always be free.