The day had unfolded like so many school days. The evening rituals were dictated by the homework, folding clothes and of course the family dinner. Just a normal midweek evening, in a normal family setting.
Kids were busy arguing about which colour the dog’s collar was, and from what I overheard, they were discussing the shades of pink. My son was sitting between the girls and as the discussion got more heated he anxiously starred at me as if asking to either step in or help him. I opted for the latter much to his relief, and I sensed a strange man-hug forming between us – an awkward fast paced wrapping of arms and then a gentle pad on the back.
My lovely wife had recently started to attend a women club at the local church, meeting up with women from our parish, hanging out with Father Ted and chatting with the man upstairs. All-in-all a very innocent evening with friends.
It had been raining a fair bit and my wife decided to wear her awesome cowgirl boots, while driving her oversized SUV. The next few paragraphs are hearsay, so would not stand up in court as the actual event, but it’s based on an expert witness testimony (my wife’s).
She had been gone for less then 45 minutes, when she suddenly stumbled in through the front door. At first I thought she was completely hammered, after dipping too many times into the alter wine, and that she had broken several traffic laws on her way home. I was certain the house would be surrounded by a SWAT team and media crews pulling into our driveway.
BUT, from the tears that were rolling down her chin I figured it was something else. I’m rather clever at times! It’s a 15th sense I have.
With the tears rolling down, she collapsed on the sofa and asked me to remove her awesome cowgirl boot from her left foot. She had slipped at church and felt her ankle snap. As soon as the boot was removed her ankle doubled in size. I know it was a classic schoolboy error to remove the pressure and support provided by the boot, but I could not face that a 22 year old doctor would cut into the goat skin shitkickers.
It was pretty clear that this injury would not be healed with a simple ice pack, so I rushed over to the neighbours, persuaded them to baby sit the kids for a few hours while I headed to ER / A&E … whatever it’s called these days. Perhaps money milking machine is more appropriate?!
As she was sitting in the wheel chair waiting for the 19 year old nurse, I suddenly realised that she was like Kim Jong-Un – short, black hair and a bad ankle. No offence to the North Korean leader of course. And my wife had fantastic sparkling pink nail polish on her toes – looking awesome for any occasion.
We spent the next 2 hours in the local ER, with my wife eating drugs and I taking selfies. The doctors were somewhat surprised by our reaction, especially when I gave the doctor high-five while proclaiming this was the first broken bone in the family history. It was a new event on the Facebook timeline and I of course had to check-in as well as post cool selfies on Instagram.
I guess dancing was out of the question for the next weeks. She had to wear a not-so-sexy supportive boot, and apply little pressure while the ankle was healing.