Minvans and Hoverounds

Here's a forewarning.. this post is purely a mix of rant and shock mixed in with a little more rant and then sprinkled with whining.

Rant-shock-whine-on..

My fucking boobies hurt. My fucking ribs hurt. My fucking shoulders feel like I've gotten a bazillion booster shots in each one. My wrist (with the nerve damage) fucking hurts.

Oddly.. thanks to the sadistic crutches, all of those parts actually hurt more than my leg.. which is being gentle on me since I'm not putting weight on it anymore.

Who thought this was a good idea? Trade one painful body part for seven others?!? Surely that's the kind of math you encounter in the DMV or the IRS or ..well.. anytime Obama tries to figure out what the actual unemployment rate is..

Seriously though..

You know the ding-dong nurse at the ortho tried to convince me that I was actually 5'6" tall? I mean really.. cuz like at 40 years old, I would have lapsed into a moment of senility that would self correct with a swift Duh! just at the question. I've been 5-bleeping-2 since I was 12.. I know damned well I wouldn't just shoot up another 4 inches because I broke my freaking leg.

So anyhow..

And then I get all emotionally gooey and shit. WTF?!? That's like a body fail. That's like when you're all mad and shit and all you can do is cry.. so then all the guys around you look like you're all emotional.. but you're just so pissed and the fucking estrogen in your body took the opportunity to fuck you over just one more time.

Total body fail.

Emotions should come with a remote control.

So my darling baby boy.. my lil'est guy who has had the distinct pleasure of snapping his femur and spending time in a full body cast and then a halo set up on his leg for four months.. as well as snapping the tibia in the other leg..

Well he took great pleasure in telling me that I could use one of those hoverounds or smart carts. No way I'll ever use one of those. No way jose.

Until tonight.

Motherfucker.. there I was riding around the Tom Thumb in a granny cart. WTF?!? I'm a victim of the crutches. I can't fucking believe it. Those lil carts were on my hard limit list right up there with poo-facials and mini-vans.

I got no fucking safewords.

I got no fucking aftercare.

What I did get was my baby boy telling me I was awfully short riding around in that cart. 5'6" short I ask? He just laughs.

Sigh. I'm starting to count the days til I get off the crutches.

33 days and counting.