By JAMES GROB
Home from work this afternoon, and after a much-needed nap I ventured forth with Little Miss Eva, IowaScribe's little fluffy white Malti-Poo, a two-pound ferocious little Maltese/Poodle cross -- with a little Great White Shark in there, that I have written about before and even composed some poetry over.
Of course, IowaScribe is a large man in many ways, and Little Miss Eva is a tiny but deadly little dog, so it's not unusual to hear little chuckles at the sight of us as we prance around the town square on our daily walks. I am certain we look rather funny together on our little jaunts.
Today those chuckles became rude but uproarious sheets of laughter, as, while crossing the street near the post office, there was a hole in the street, about nine inches deep and about as long and as wide as IowaScribe's Left Shoe. Neither Little Miss Eva, IowaScribe's Left Shoe or IowaScribe noticed the hole until aforementioned Left Shoe, with foot inside, crunched into the pavement and IowaScribe's ankle responded with a crunch of its own.
It had to look hilarious to the witnesses, most of them postal employees, as IowaScribe screamed in pain and tumbled forward to the pavement, his ankle sprained beyond recognition, his pride shattered to the point of lethargy. Most of IowaScribe's massive weight came crashing down on his naked right knee, as the unseasonably warm weather makes it so short-pants are adequate attire. The force of the fall tore all the skin from the knee, which now looks like an over-ripe, wrinkling tomato.
The pain to the knee, however, was nothing when compared to the pain of the ankle, of which I was certain was mangled to the point where I would probably never walk again. It even caused me to let go of Little Miss Eva's leash, and she scampered up the sidewalk without looking back, clueless to my predicament.
Immediately I attempted to leap to my feet in pursuit, which was a blunder of Gargantuan proportions and led to more screaming in pain and a second tumble, as my rotten tomato knee once again tasted the hard, unforgiving pavement of the Bloomfield City Street. Ah, Bloomfield Street, I leave you my flesh, I leave you my blood! From my heart of hate, with my last breath, I spit at thee!
Speaking of the Bloomfield City Street, I will digress here while I take a moment to alert the Bloomfield CIty Council of this poorly-placed but well-camouflaged Pothole of Pain. You bastards better get this thing fixed real soon or I while personally see to it that every single one of you has your asses metaphorically kicked, as soon as I am able to metaphorically walk again. Or maybe I'll call a lawyer.
Anyway, unable to pursue Little Miss Eva, I shouted to her, and much to my surprise, for the first time in her doggy life she actually listened to me and returned, sitting loyally by my side and looking at me with an expression that simply said, "What the hell is your problem, douche bag? I thought we were going for a walk?"
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and punched up the numbers of Mrs. IowaScribe, for I knew she would soon be venturing home. "I need you to pick me up at the post office as soon as humanly possible," was all I said, and was all that I had to say. She was on her way. Gotta love Mrs. IowaScribe, she could tell from my girlish whimpers that something was wrong and that she needn't ask me questions.
As I waited there on the corner, two different Good Samaritans did stop and offer to help, which restored some of my faith in humanity. Eventually I managed to stand up, which was a relief. Though my ankle was in excruciating pain, I could tell that it was a sprain and not a break of any kind, and I could see that my foot was relatively straight and pointing close to the direction it is supposed to point.
Mrs. IowaScribe arrived and took charge of Little Miss Eva. I crawled into the pick-up truck and instructed her to take me home and to be really nice to me. I explained the entire situation to her.
Upon arriving home, I crawled like a one-legged toddler up the stairs to our luxury apartment and into my reclining easy chair. We found a way to lift the leg and ice the ankle, and Mrs. IowaScribe applied medication to what is left of my wretched knee. She then made me a cheeseburger and went out and got me some ice cream sandwiches. This was nice, as it was my night to cook.
The ankle continues to throb now, but only really hurts when I am awake.
I will be walking slowly for the next few days, and making lots of whining noises.
Anyone know a good personal-injury attorney?