The Universe Hates Me

I think the universe hates me. This morning I fell off my heel and rolled my ankle on the way to the car. It hurts, but I can walk on it. So I'm going to walk on it. Thirteen some odd years wearing ridiculously high heels and I have NEVER fallen off. NEVER. I mean, I used to run up icy hills in stilettos when late for church at good ole Ricks. And I never slipped. Not once. Ever. Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. I'm too lurpy to live. I'm a mess.

Here's the current injury count: (In a neatly bulleted list, just for you! See how I love you?)

• Ugly healingish bruises on both legs and back (from the stairs)
• New bruises on both legs from running into things in the new apartment
• Bruised foot due to falling vase - (at least I caught it)
• Gouged and bloodied tootsie from Stewie's failed attempt to scale the washer and dryer last night
• Rolled ankle
• Pulled back muscle (begun whilst rolling down he stairs, exacerbated whilst tensing for a side- walk fall this morning)
• Bruised ego

I think I must have bad karma. I need to universe to love me again. Maybe I need to go out and rescue some grasshoppers. Or buy a three legged dog a prosthetic limb. Or help an old lady cross the street.

Better yet, I will find an old lady who needs to cross the street and give her a ride to Wendover instead. I will watch her purse while she plays the slots. I will point out suitable elderly gentleman companions who appear jaunty and well-dressed. Then I will purchase for her a new scarfy thing that all the old ladies wear to keep the wind off their hair. I will carefully make sure the scarfy thing is in a color that compliments her Buck and Buck sweat suit. I will press her sweat suit, paying careful attention not to iron over the delicate appliques.

I will apply an appropriate polish to her gold LA. Gear tennis shoes. Perhaps I will purchase some creams and lotions for her arthritis. Then I will cook for her a dinner of fiber rich foods in specifically selected textures appropriate to her chewing abilities. Following this, I will set up a DVR to record her favorite programs, such as Matlock and Murder She Wrote, and perhaps even Poirot. When I am finished, she will be happy, and will look something like this.



Hopefully then the universe will forgive me for breathing.

Ta,
Cyndi