Pain in the butt
Yesterday was spent doing more work than I care to think about. Most of my day was labored away outside, where I power washed the patio, deck and house. Fine and dandy, except that the dog was playing in the mud and created a nice slick spot on the bottom of the deck steps, which me, being the graceful swan that I am, quickly stepped in and fell. Hard.
In a desperate attempt to catch myself from falling, I scraped away a good amount of skin from my left arm, which still burns as I type this. Today, the scrapes have developed into blue and purple bruises, arranged in such a way that it looks as if Rick beat me. My mother would be appalled.
I have a four inch perfect outline of the step edge, tattooed on my ass with hues of blues, purples and even some fuschias shadowed with the faintest hint of yellow. It feels as good as it sounds.
Hurt perhaps most of all, may have been my pride, should my husband had decided to have been outside helping me, but alas, he was not and so spared my tender ego. Thank God for that. I can rest easy, knowing no one saw my graceful plummet, or heard my pained squeak.
Well, except for the dog.
My bottom is protesting the office chair in which I sit, so I'm off to find an ice pack.