Picture this . . . Vestal Vespa, carrying laundry up the short stairwell in the back of her 1950's tenement-style apartment building. As the door begins to shut behind her, a thought crosses her mind . . . what if she left her keys in there, behind the rapidly-closing, self-locking door? Crisis! In panic, she turns to grab the knob just as the door latches, trips down the bottom two steps, and rolls her ankle over with a sickly snapping sound.
Yep. Sprained my ankle doing laundry. Just think, if this acts up again, I'll have to say, "oh, dear, that's just my old laundry injury."
At least I didn't lock myself out.
To add to this, I have a nasty cold and it's just now getting nice out. So I'm laid up, laid out, and quarantined. Teh Suxor.
I took yesterday off and today it's back to work. But payday is coming, as well as the vacay (check the countdown) so, as my friend Megan says, there is a light at the end of the ass crack.
Until next time . . .