My left arm was almost, not quite, useless today.
Tomorrow I’m trading in my body for a new model. This is getting ridiculous.
The guys park my car for me each day, while I’m on crutches, always professional and courteous, even when I’m slow, really slow.
Today was a tortoise day. I’ve never seen a tortoise with crutches, and an almost useless arm, hopping, trying not to put too much weight on the arm. It hurts, a sharp pain. Remember, the tortoise had absolutely no pain with meniscus repair. None.
Picture a tortoise with a big ‘ol butt, and her backpack ricocheting off her butt with every step, bouncing everywhere. A Madagascar turtle, if you will. A full water bottle’s sloshing, lipgloss tossed around (because every self-respecting tortoise has at least one lipgloss in her backpack, probably several). The backpack is overloaded, a Swiss Army knife of backpacks, apparently prepared for an apocalypse.
This sight isn’t attractive.
Tortoise makes it to the boutique and drops her keys while trying to unlock the door. She mutters something unintelligible. She hears, “I’ll get that, ma’am.” Oh my. A nice gentleman retrieves her keys and unlocks the door. Why thank you sir, I could just hug your neck, she says in her Texas Madagascar voice.
She made it to work.
Never the hare, she’s slow, however, she’s tenacious. Tonight she’s tired.
She’s thankful for kindness. Again and again.
Can a tortoise drink Fireball? Asking for a friend.
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