Injuries May Be Forgiven, But Not Forgotten. Aesop

Forewarning:

This post may not be for those of you who are faint of heart. If you don't like blood and guts the following photo's are not for you. It's not like I am holding my actual beating heart in my own hand, but it is not like I'm holding butterflies either. Though they were taken with my camera phone and details have been blurred & they do not look as bad as the original.

This is not a result of playing real-time Frogger in 5" stilettos:

(Please note the husband has already scrubbed out my owie.
During which I kept quietly blubbering some sort of gibberish while rocking back and forth. But it's clean. For now.)

This is what happens when your husband and you, while bike riding, pseudo-shout to a woman you are coming upon to pass, "on your left" but they do not move over. Since there was less than 12" to pass on, it seems I did not make it.

My tire caught the side of the concrete path and henceforth decided I should not remain upright. My nice warm leggings were gashed just like my knee and blood began a heavy trickle down my shin. That was gross. Vile even if you were to ask me. But your not, so I won't. I also bruised my left palm. I'm sure that will help me in school.

Anyway, I popped up right away after nonchalantly exclaiming under my breath something that rhymes with "Chuck" (sorry mom). And the offending lady offered, "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? My husband and I are always listening for cyclists as were are one's ourselves. I never heard you come up on us. I'm so sorry."

Which, to me, is a kooky-mental thing to say to someone when both of your iPod earphones are plugged into each one of your ears!

Um, duh.

So, this is my knee now (again with the camera phone, I know, I know. . . .
But my Rebel XTi's battery died, so these are what you get):

I'm fine. I did not want to wash it at first. I still don't want to wash it. The husband made me. Actually, he had to clean it as I refused to do so, but I didn't like it. It bled again. And I still don't want to clean it tomorrow or even the next day or the day after that. It also doesn't help that my Boykin Spaniel, Dixie, is following my knee around trying to lick it on a consistent basis tonight. That's gross too.

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I rode 1/2-way back home and since my tire is bent the husband ran ahead to get the truck. I have to say here that every single man that passed me on the path asked if 1) I was okay and 2) if I needed help. Chivalrous - and I am very okay with that, but I'm going to wait for my husband thankyouverymuch.

The women that passed me if they even acknowledged my existence said, "hello." Oddly, I was reminded of Madeleine Albright who once said, "there is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."

That is all. I'm pretty sure I don't look comfy nor cute.