This is how I broke my foot Sunday night. It’s kind of a funny story.
Do you ever feel like things are going really well? Maybe too well? That’s how I felt Sunday night. I was out for the first time with a lovely guy. We were getting along great, it wasn’t awkward at all. Our political views align, he’s a Hufflepuff (I’m so done dating Gryffindors), his love for cats is equal to mine, and he was even cuter than the pictures. It was great. It was better than great: it was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that fate was tempted because I don’t get to have nice things without a catch.
The catch this time was a klutz attack. For anyone not familiar with those, it’s when you’re minding your own business when suddenly it’s like you’re in an infomercial and can do nothing correctly. Except I wasn’t holding a bowl of popcorn or doing something else innocuous. I was walking. On a small ledge. Almost a foot off the pavement. In my defense, there was a loose stone, but I don’t think better masonry would have saved me at that time.
Mid-sentence, trying to be cute as I go towards the car in my 3 inch platform shoes, when suddenly I’m flat on the ground. A total wipe out. Skinned knee, twisted ankle, and only God’s grace saved my tights from disastrous runs. James is full out flipping. Frantic questions about if I’m okay, how did that happen, am I hurt? At my side in half a second trying to help me up. I, on the other hand, play it cool, popping up like it’s no big deal and I didn’t just land over two hundred pounds onto the top of my foot as it rolled under me.
And the pain? Not too bad. I’d had two drinks. Not enough to be buzzed yet, but enough to take the edge off my chronic pain and apparently any additional pain I endure. So I seriously didn’t think I was lying to this guy when I said I was fine, just a little sore. Oh how wrong I was. I head home (after making out in my car for half an hour like teenagers) and the next morning my foot is swollen and a lovely shade of lilac. I can hardly move my toes and my ankle won’t bend in certain directions. Not. Good. And my mom is out of town. So I have to get a friend to take me to the doctor, and it is a whole ordeal. Avulsion fracture of the fifth metatarsal and a sprained ankle. No weight bearing until I am cleared by an orthopedic surgeon. Fuck.
Being the painfully honest person I am, I felt like I should really let him know, especially seeing as we had planned to meet up later in the week. So I text and get another very sweet round of frantic concern followed by the sweetest offer ever. He’s making me dinner tonight so I don’t have to hobble around my tiny kitchen. This boy (Man? Am I really that old now? I think I might be.) is too sweet.
So maybe things are okay. Even with a broken foot. I’m not saying it was worth it, but good might just come of this.