Speaking of my ass, there’s no bruise.
The thing hurts like a bi-otch,but there’s no bruise. I don’t bruise. It is physically impossible for me to bruise. It might turn a little grey in a few days, but I never get that great big black and blue bruise that makes everyone feel really sympathetic. No sympathy for me! No one even remembers that I got hurt. Still hurts just the same, but no great big black and blue bruise. I mean, if it’s going to hurt, you may as well have a big ol’ bruise to go with it.
So I’m running this morning, bitterly thinking about the old man yelling“Reeeeeel graceful” at my back as I walked away, when I feel one foot being angrily yanked out from under me; the foot leaving the sidewalk paying no attention to my internal warning cries and I fall smack on my unbruised ass. Are you kidding me??
“Jesus H!” I yelled. I would like to point out that I live in a very Jewish-populated neighborhood, and therefore have decided that yelling Jesus is not, in fact, swearing at all, really it’s just another stupid American mispronouncing an incredibly popular Hispanic name. Jesus doesn’t mean anything to the Jews!
My butt is clearly well-padded, since today’s fall did not hurt nearly as much as yesterday’s. I’m choosing not to dwell on this fact.
AND at the next section of black ice had the skid marks and firm butt-print of the last runner who was stupid enough to be out in 13 below freezing weather the day after it had rained and the morning after it had snowed, effectively covering any evidence of ice that obviously would have formed.
Thank you to the runner who saved me from my third fall in two days. I sincerely hope that you have a bruise for your troubles.