Monday, February 18, 2013

Happy Birthday {Dance floor injuries}

 
 
It was my birthday last week.
On Valentines day to be exact. I am a child of love.
 
 
This year was going to be the last birthday I ever have. Turning 29 has made me feel all kinds of old, knowing that turning 30 next year will make me all kinds of old and its a place I don't really want to go. I figure that if I remove my birthday from facebook, people won't even realise that I am skipping thirty and going back to 25. It hasn't happened until its facebook official, after all. Right?
 
 
 
So, the last ever birthday was going along fabulously. Sadly The Farmer was away, so I spent the day between work and friends.
Flowers were delivered to work, a unicorn cake was baked and scoffed, dinner was eaten and wine was drank.
 
 
Plans were in place for the weekend. A babysitter was hired, a sparkly dress was hanging waiting to be worn and the giant bright red heels were ready for dancing.
 
It was a night that had been talked about for weeks. Friends all coming together to drink copious amounts of booze and dance the night away.
 
 
All started well, and was going to plan.
 
There was a local race meet on that day, so my tiny little town was buzzing with random people, including a giant man on the dance floor.
 
 
Cue teeny tiny lady also on the dance floor.
 
 
What happened next required more sympathy than anyone was going to give me.
 
The hoof of the Giant Man and the petite little foot of the Teeny Tiny Lady met.
 
There was a shriek. There was a slight vague apology. There was a seeking of sympathy.
 
 
There was also lots of vodka.
 
So much so, that whilst it hurt, I was unaware of just how much.
 
There was some swelling, some bruising, and still no sympathy.
 
 
I continued on my merry way that night, drinking more and dancing more. I even walked home.
 
 
All was well until 7.15am when I was awoken to an intense throbbing in my foot.
 
'Geez, my foot is so dirty, I better go wash it'.
 
It wasn't dirt, it was a massive bruise on my now massive foot.
 
 
 
My hospital admission form (filled out by a nurse I am friends with) reads
"trod on by a giant man"
 
 
I laughed.
 
 
 
 
 
I am so pleased this has been my last birthday ever, because I have ended up with tendon damage, fractured bones and a whole lot of whining.
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

Happy Freaking Birthday.

 

Have you got a good injury story? 

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