I'm Such A Hipster

I’m a bit surprised at the speed of the healing process at my advanced age, especially since the area of my body undergoing said healing is one of my hips, a notoriously vulnerable area for us centenarians. I bashed myself up a bit on Thanksgiving, having opted to ride my bicycle around to a couple of parties, rather than drive, knowing that I would be most likely end up being coerced into drinking a beer.

The roads, as it happened, were icier than a woman’s stare at the pub upon being approached by me, and once that front wheel decides to go out from under you (notice the externalization of fault … I love me some anthropomorphization when laying blame), there’s just not enough time to come up with and vocalize an appropriate cry of despair, much less unclip from your pedals. So onto my hip it was. Several times.

I was called out on the folly of my decision at the first stop:

Party Host: Dead Acorn! Glad you could ma … umm, wow, did you ride your bike?

Dead Acorn: Yeah … I’m freezing, and I’ve already fallen once, but I didn’t want to risk driving on these roads with all the kids out.

PH: ummm … kids?

DA: Yeah, the trick-or-treaters. Usually I like to stay home for a while to check out some of the cool costumes, but I just left a plate of sliced beets on my doorstep and a sign reading “Please Only Take One.”

PH: Is … is that why you’re dressed up as Snow White?

DA: Nice, huh? When are you going to get dressed?

PH: I think you're a little confused ... Halloween was a month ago. Everyone will be inside tonight spending time with friends and family.

DA: So, what you're saying is, I could totally drink to excess and drive around and be perfectly fine?

PH: (yelling into the kitchen) Honey, we have to move and find new friends!

Anyway, after a couple of more falls during the course of the evening, I could barely move on Friday morning, even after I was able to wriggle out of the ropes (I’m still trying to reconstruct the evening as to how that happened). I spent the day limping around, mostly just whimpering, but occasionally sobbing openly – the dogs* were confused, but wholly unsympathetic. Saturday, though, I felt surprisingly spry, and by Sunday, I had returned to my baseline level of non-specific physical achiness and my mental mixture of despondence and apathy.

Baby, I’m back!

* Indy's got her boyfriend over for a few days. Two hundred pounds of dog pushing me off the bed at night. Boneheads.