The sudden stab was like a hot blade plunging deep into my lower back... so intense, I couldn't stand up straight or bear any weight on my right leg at all. Unable to move, I was hunched over Old Granny-style, one hand on my aching back and the other grasping the frame of my waterbed.
Stuck there doing a grand "Scowling Flamingo" (that IS a Yoga position, isn't it?), I pondered what to do.
Hmmm... Okay. It's the middle of the night. Everyone else in the house is fast asleep.
Only the dog and three cats were witness to my predicament; four pairs of eyes staring up at me in the semi-darkness with heads tilted in what I swear were expressions of amusement.
Well, you're no help. I grumble at them.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I simply leaned over and fell into bed.
And wondered if I would even be able to get out again in the morning, as images of being indignantly hauled away on a wooden plank swam in my head. Eventually I drifted off to a fitfull sleep, flat on my back and wincing in pain each time hubby thrashed around in his slumber.
Thankfully when dawn arrived I was able to carefully roll out of bed and slowly walk again, albeit at an angle and still in agony.
So what caused this tortuous injury you ask?
(Um. You DID ask, didn't you?)
A horrific fall down the stairs?
A devastating slip on the ice?
In a heroic attempt to save another person's life?
I was taking off my socks.
Yep. I was pulling off my sock ... obviously THE WRONG WAY. I didn't know there was a RIGHT WAY, but nevertheless, my back quickly informed me I was woefully ignorant of The Proper Technique Of Safe Sock Removal.
But when people ask why I am stiffly lumbering around Frankenstein-style, I am going to regale them with a dramatic tale.
Of how I selflessly dove to save a blind orphaned puppy from the path of that out-of-control speeding SUV...
... or a cause a little less idiotic than simply getting undressed.
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