Why don’t I just rename this blog “Ouch, my foot hurts”
I don’t feel old, but clearly my conversational skills have taken a chilling shift to lunch time at the retirement home, in that all I have to talk about is how crappy I feel.
To be fair to me, when you’re alone in the house all day catching up on Tivo and surfing the web, there is a limit to the question “what’s new with you.” Because, really, what is new is what is also old, and that is pain.
So excuse me for not being fascinating.
But madfishmonger reminded me of the only other time I’ve been on crutches, which was twenty years ago (hey, I said I didn’t feel old, not that I was young).
I’d sprained my ankle, and was hobbling around the grocery store, struggling to steer the cart while using crutches. I noticed a guy who seemed to be checking me out in the produce aisle. Then I noticed him again by the cereal, and yet again when I was picking up milk.
Then, when I get into line to check out, he stands behind me, and tries to start a flirty conversation with me. And I turned to him and said “Really? You watched me struggle through the store, don’t offer to help, and NOW you want to flirt with me? You suck at this.” He turned red with embarrassment and skulked off.
(Hmm, I don’t have much of an ending for this. Other than “Dude from the grocery store twenty years ago: It’s been two decades, and I have to say that in the 38 years I was single, that was about the worst example of flirting I ever saw.”)