I'll Tumble 4 U or They Should Call Me Calamity Jane

I was all set to post this morning under the heading "I don't want to go on the cart" or some other such nod to the fact that I'm not dead yet and that I am, in fact, feeling pretty fine. No pain (severe or otherwise) since Saturday afternoon. Proving my theory that the instant you give up the ghost, suck it up, and visit a doctor, there actually really is no longer anything wrong with you. This makes the doctor's job easier because they they simply need to mock you rather than actually, you know, practice medicine.

And then Tim and I pulled into our usual locale where I hop out of the car and he slides behind the wheel and then I toddle on to my building and then he drives merrily to his (wherein he has a parking spot). And I began to walk across the parking lot. The dry parking lot. With no ice. No water. Nothing but the dry and crystalized remnants of heavy salting and sanding as an aftermath of last week's ice storm. And the next thing I knew, I was unhappily wondering how it was that I had managed to slip. On nothing. Again.

I hobbled over to the self-same bench that had previously served as a respite for me after falling and surveyed the damage. No skin on my right knee? Check. Blood oozing happily therefrom? Check. Lump the size of a golfball on my left foot? Check. Pain radiating from both? Check. Check.

Excellent.

Are we sure today isn't Monday?