That’s it. End of the story.
I was taking out the trash, I stepped off a step that was about six inches high into the gravely area around the trash barrels and I rolled over on my ankle. Oh yeah, then I cussed a bit. Carrie was down in the basement switching the laundry and heard the cussing, so she gets concerned and comes out to see me sitting on the step rubbing my ankle.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Twisted my ankle,” I said.
“How did that happen?” she asked.
“Ummm, walking. Basically just taking a step and not being coordinated enough to handle my own body weight.”
“You weren’t pretending to be superman or doing some weird sort of super hero leap, were you.”
Seriously, I have no idea how she gets some of these ideas in her head. It has been years and years since I have pretended to be a super hero. Okay. It’s at least been months and months since I’ve pretended to be a super hero.
“No,” I said. “Walking.”
“You weren’t storming around having a fit because you were mad about taking out the trash, were you?”
Seriously, I have no idea how she gets some of these ideas in her head. It has been months and months since I’ve had a fit over anything as silly as taking out the trash. Okay, it’s at least been hours and hours since I’ve had a fit over anything as silly as taking out the trash.
“No storming around. Just walking,” I said.
“Because I heard you swearing and slamming things,” she said.
“I’m pretty sure the swearing and slamming came after I twisted my ankle. Walking.”
Over the next day or two, I’m forced to explain my extremely slow and limping gait several more times to friends, family, and coworkers. The story never gets any more exciting.
“What happened to your ankle?”
“How’d that happen?”
Oddly enough, no one else asks me if I twisted my ankle pretending to be a super hero, although Eric seemed to think that Breezy’s bad back and my twisted ankle were somehow related.
“I thought he might have tripped over Breezy,” he said.
Nope. Just walking. All by myself.