Until someone loses a foot.
Picture this. Last weekend; block party; booze; music; booze; trampoline; booze; my wife’s twin sister. No, it’s not what you are thinking… (I didn’t realize how that last sentence would read until I wrote it.)
My sister-in-law decided that it would be fun to regress thirty or forty years and bounce around on a trampoline. Ladies out there, (I never thought I’d say this, but I will) don’t drink and bounce. It’s not safe.
The picture of Deb’s foot was not; I repeat NOT; digitally enhanced. This is what the elephant man’s foot looked like. It was painful. It was embarrassing. It was hilarious.
But that’s not the funny part.
Deb went to the hospital, got the broken bones set in a cast, and
returned to the party. She attempted to go to work after the weekend and couldn’t handle it. She returned to the hospital and they decided that they needed to operate to set the bones (notice the plural) surgically. So, after staying overnight, getting surgery, staying overnight again, they decided they were going to release her. So, she gets dressed, packs her stuff and is ready to go. She simply needs to wait for her release papers. Now, this sister-in-law of mine, the same sister-in-law who, under the influence of alcohol and peer pressure thought it would be a good idea to try out a trampoline, got bored waiting for the hospital staff to administer her release papers. She decides that she would pass the time away by tidying up around her hospital bed. She takes a water glass, hops on one foot to the sink to dump it, decides that the nurse might think it was a bad idea for her to hop around without her crutches, turns around to get her crutches, loses her balance and falls down, injuring her other foot.
(Pause while readers roar with laughter.)
It’s not funny. Ahem… I mean really… it’s NOT funny. Sorry Deb, I can’t say it with a straight face.
Get well soon.
