I hurt myself. I NEVER hurt myself. That's not true, I'm very clumsy, I ALWAYS hurt myself, but never seriously.
But I hurt myself in the most idiotic way ever: on the treadmill. Who on this good earth gets hurt on the goddamn treadmill?! My ankle hurts, and it's swollen, and I can't walk. And the worst worst part is that I can't run again for at least four days. My trip to Miami is in eight days. Do the math, that means I only have FOUR days to get skinny. Dammit!
And the very very funny people at work are having a great time. Jokes about leg elevation and how ankle placement in the air is a normal daily activity for me are ringing up and down the hallways. Oh, you guys! Cut it the fuck out.
And stop asking me What happened? It's humiliating, especially since my "injury" is a result of something inane. Not rockclimbing, kick boxing, defending myself from a purse-snatching gang of thugs. No, it has to be the typical New York Jewish girl excuse (no, not the once a year sample sale at Barney's - where ambulances are stationed outside like at a hockey game at Madison Square Garden) but "at the gym." I got hurt AT. THE. GYM. For Christ's sake. Dignity forever is a thing of the past.