Because I’m always up for poking fun at myself, I have to point out that during my New Year’s Eve excursion to NYC (which was a blast), I:
- Fell up a flight of stairs in the Port Authority. Stairs, as my girlfriend is quick to point out, are my natural enemy, my opposite number. They are the Moriarty to my Holmes, the Liam Gallagher to my Noel Gallagher, the advance critics’ screening to my Uwe Boll film.
- Slid on ice and smashed my abdomen into a scaffold. It didn’t hurt at the time it happened, but it has that kind of dull ache now, with the occasional sharp pain when it moves wrong. I WebMD’d this injury to see what the collective medical knowledge of the Internet said it might be. According to the collective medical knowledge of the Internet, I may have three types of cancer, Celiac disease, colon polyps, food poisoning, a panic attack or….muscle strain, which is clearly the least likely thing on the list.
I’d like to be able to boast that I didn’t hurt myself on New Year’s Day, but we ate at White Castle (such delicious hurting).
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
So, regarding your animosity towards stairs, what your girlfriend is trying to say is that you’re Charles Xavier?
Do you have stairs in your house?