Write Stuff

My friend broke her boob.


Here's the thing. If yo're going to suffer a mediumish-to-major injury, you need to have a good story for it.


True lame story: the worst injury I've ever had was a dislocated knee. I showed up to eighth grade with a massive full leg brace and got to do physical therapy for three months. It was an impressive looking injury, and a highly visible one. I got like, a  million questions about how I hurt it.


Battling grizzlies, chasing down a purse snatcher, at the bottom of a tackle pile in Saturday afternoon football: all acceptable answers.


Not the real answers, but good ones. 


The answer I had to give: I did this getting out of bed.


Yeah. That's right. I ripped the cartilage in my knee my swinging my legs over the side of the bed like I did every morning.


NOT awesome.


James had a dramatic toe injury last week along the lines of oozing blood and an urgent care visit.


"It hurts!" he wailed.


I shrugged. "At least you've got a good story out of it."


"You are so wise, Mom!" is what he meant, even though his actual words were "What the crap are you talking about?"


He got the injury, in case you were dying to know, when he and I tried to rescue some wood from an HOA beautification project in our neighborhood to give to Kenny for his lathe. An extremely heavy stump defeated us and it landed on James's toe. That stump wanted to rage against the dying of the light, folks.


So back to my friend who broke her boob. At least it's because she was hit by a car crossing Pacific Coast Highway. Some ditzy blonde in her daddy's convertible mowed her down and it popped my friend's breast implant. 


But it's so much better than explaining she has to get a $16,000 surgical repair because she tripped on the carpet or something.


See? Silver lining.