According to Heather Whipps on Yahoo! News, yesterday (9-9-09) “represents the last set of repeating, single-digit dates that we'll see for almost a century (until January 1, 2101), or a millennium (mark your calendars for January 1, 3001).”
Great suggestion, Heather! I’m usually pretty good about marking birthdays and anniversaries ahead of time, but sure, let me flip through my datebook a few thousand years and make a note.
Hopefully by that time I won’t be wearing this anymore.
Isn’t it purdy? It goes so well with my surgical stockings and neckbrace. Well, ok, I don’t have to wear either of those, but I do have to sport the thumb guard for a few days. See, I wasn’t paying attention as I was getting out of my car after work, and I caught my thumb in the door.
Multi-tasking + slammed car door = pain
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the female passerby who saw it happen, dropped her grocery bag and ran over to inspect the damage. My thumb didn’t swell to the size of a watermelon and turn a grotesque shade of black, as she promised, nor did I need a doctor to drill a hole in my mangled thumb to alleviate the pressure, as she swore, nor has my nail curled, rotted or fallen off my thumb.
I really hope the woman doesn’t have children, or if she does, that her husband is with them when they fall, otherwise I’m guessing playground mishaps sound something like this:
“Oh God, Billy, noooooooooo! Your scratch will be ravaged by flesh eating bacteria that’s going to crawl into your brain and render you sterile while you sleep and then oh God next comes the coma you’ll be a vegetable, oh God, noooooooooo we must amputate!”
Understandably, I was in a pissy mood when I walked through the front door.
But that Chuck! Do you know what he did to make me feel better? He took a drive in that same car to get me some ice cream. Awww. And because he takes affronts against me so personally, he left the back door open and reversed alongside a cement wall at the ice cream shop and tore up that door accordian-style. Just to show that car who’s boss.
Busted car door + $400 repair bill = $0 in bank account
Isn't Chuck the greatest?
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.