"Mrs. Lipstick on Crutches"

That's the new name JBB has coined for my blog. He informed me tonight of the new title. This just proved to me that according to the way children measure time, I have been in a cast forever. In adult time...only six weeks. That's still long enough to have had purple, then blue, then back to purple. A bunch of screwy tendons plus three cast colors equals new blog title per eight year old son. Pretty Girl is way more concerned about the fashion implications, strongly advocating for a pink cast at tomorrow's doctor visit. I, however, am tired of selecting fiberglass colors.

I imagine tomorrow's visit like reaching Oz. My astoundingly learned surgeon will give me her opinion of last week's MRI, and then life will change accordingly, right? Right? Well, hell's bells, I don't know, but my foot feels like it just had a c-section and I am dying to get fixed, repaired, somehow patched up. It's all I can think about. Can't you tell?

I haven't blogged lately because reading about other people's aches and pains is right up there with reading about their vacations. Oooh. Can't wait. Bookmark that.

But...
eventually these posts sort of write themselves, you know. Sometimes inspiration stares back at you. Like this.

Thoughts can even be categorized by little symbols.
For example...there is A LOT of sitting and waiting and propping up on pillows...

which can make you want an adult beverage almost immediately (most specifically a caramel apple martini)...

which can make you actually want a drag on a cig as if you were 21 again...

WAIT...what?!...then you remember you don't smoke and therefore must not crave such unhealthy vices...

which makes you want to snack. on anything.

But then you remember that you really, really don't want to get fat just because your foot is in a cast.

Sigh...yep, you are still staring at your foot which is still in a cast and boy, do you feel like a baby for whining about it.

It could be sooo much worse. Like being in a cast and having no one to make you appletinis or tell you that you are perhaps the first person to actually get toned just from hauling your leg atop a mountain of pillows. Yep, that would totally suck.