The story begins with a simple, innocuous line:
Today I bought pants and hurt myself.
To be honest, the real notable part of that statement is the part wherein I purchased pantaloons. I just haven't ever been a pants man. This, however, has kept me out of all the high society parties, where formal shorts are frowned upon. Frowned upon, and GASPED at. SHOCKING.
The self-hurting is less amazing. Infact, considering my rather retarded behavioral patterns, one might be more impressed to learn that it occurs so infrequently. In fact, I possess mongoose-like reflexes, and an inordinate amount of luck, that helps offset the fact that I perform stupid stunts on a weekly basis. But I digress. Let's talk about formal wear.
I bought some black, classy dress pants to wear to a semi-formal dinner. I have the honor of escorting a very beautiful lady, in the company of some very awesome people, and I wanted to look nice. Nay, I wanted to look DASHING. That's the bare minimum, for these are some handsome people I intend to hang with. And so, the pants. After I returned home, I put them on and proceded to view my many sides in the bathroom mirror. Front, good. Right side, good. Left side, good. Backside, FABULOUS. But, wait. The counter interferes with the complete picture! This cannot be allowed. Something must be DONE. And so, I leapt.
This leap has been performed before. When I need to see how shoes work with various outfits, or if I'm simply enjoying my legs instead of my torso, to be specific. It's a simple vertical leap that places both feet on the counter, and myself above them. But I forgot about the socks. Oh, how I forgot about the socks.
The feet slipped instantly on the formica. They went UP. My momentum was still carrying me up, but now I had various parts of my body in the wrong spatial alignment. And poor left hip was stuck facing Earth. He, sadly, was the first to make contact upon landing.
Thank the Maker that I'm not old yet. I'm given to understand the the hips of the elderly can shatter at the drop of a hat. And in this case, I dropped considerably more than a hat. I dropped a haberdashery. On my hip. I don't think it's broken, but I'll find out tomorrow. It moves normally, and bears most of my weight. But there is a tender spot (oh, so tender) and it's pretty swollen. Ai papi, no mi gusta!
While you read this, I'm going to watch Superman Returns with a ginormous bag of ice, and a peanut butter sandwich. You may reflect, if you like, on how other people use their blog for serious adult stuff, and shallow folk like I talk about vainity-induced injuries. I mean, Pistolita is debating the beautiy of marraige, and I'm telling sob stories and stuffing myself with processed nut butter. GOSH. Go read theirs. Better yourself.
=P
Today I bought pants and hurt myself.
To be honest, the real notable part of that statement is the part wherein I purchased pantaloons. I just haven't ever been a pants man. This, however, has kept me out of all the high society parties, where formal shorts are frowned upon. Frowned upon, and GASPED at. SHOCKING.
The self-hurting is less amazing. Infact, considering my rather retarded behavioral patterns, one might be more impressed to learn that it occurs so infrequently. In fact, I possess mongoose-like reflexes, and an inordinate amount of luck, that helps offset the fact that I perform stupid stunts on a weekly basis. But I digress. Let's talk about formal wear.
I bought some black, classy dress pants to wear to a semi-formal dinner. I have the honor of escorting a very beautiful lady, in the company of some very awesome people, and I wanted to look nice. Nay, I wanted to look DASHING. That's the bare minimum, for these are some handsome people I intend to hang with. And so, the pants. After I returned home, I put them on and proceded to view my many sides in the bathroom mirror. Front, good. Right side, good. Left side, good. Backside, FABULOUS. But, wait. The counter interferes with the complete picture! This cannot be allowed. Something must be DONE. And so, I leapt.
This leap has been performed before. When I need to see how shoes work with various outfits, or if I'm simply enjoying my legs instead of my torso, to be specific. It's a simple vertical leap that places both feet on the counter, and myself above them. But I forgot about the socks. Oh, how I forgot about the socks.
The feet slipped instantly on the formica. They went UP. My momentum was still carrying me up, but now I had various parts of my body in the wrong spatial alignment. And poor left hip was stuck facing Earth. He, sadly, was the first to make contact upon landing.
Thank the Maker that I'm not old yet. I'm given to understand the the hips of the elderly can shatter at the drop of a hat. And in this case, I dropped considerably more than a hat. I dropped a haberdashery. On my hip. I don't think it's broken, but I'll find out tomorrow. It moves normally, and bears most of my weight. But there is a tender spot (oh, so tender) and it's pretty swollen. Ai papi, no mi gusta!
While you read this, I'm going to watch Superman Returns with a ginormous bag of ice, and a peanut butter sandwich. You may reflect, if you like, on how other people use their blog for serious adult stuff, and shallow folk like I talk about vainity-induced injuries. I mean, Pistolita is debating the beautiy of marraige, and I'm telling sob stories and stuffing myself with processed nut butter. GOSH. Go read theirs. Better yourself.
=P
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
"What'd they die of?"
"Crushed Pelvises"