Life's a Stitch

Having a virus hanging around isn’t enough. When you hurt yourself in attempt to avoid said illness, it adds insult to injury. Or more accurately, injury to insult. It’s a thing. My daughter’s friend twisted her ankle pivoting away from an oncoming unmasked person.

My sorry story was a similar scenario. A group of six were headed toward me, only two masked, taking up the width of the walkway. After diverting to the street, I tripped on the curb and went not-so-gracefully down. A nice man, older than me, ran over to help me up. Categorizing me as a woman of a certain age, he asked three times how my hip was. If he were younger I might have chastised him for his senior stereotyping. The irony of the situation is that I believe he was one of the unmasked group of six.

Our in-house injuries have increased in proportion to the amount of time spent at home. Particularly the woodworking husband, who sported three consecutive bandages of varying degrees of seriousness in one week, two from his workshop and a cringeworthy one from a hatchet while camping. On the kitchen counter there was Dettol, steri strips, gauze, bandaids super glue and glue accelerator. Don’t ask.

His injuries resulted in a secondary one. To my glasses, which I had removed for a lens cleaning. Naturally, glasses off, can’t see very well. I “saw” a little spray bottle on the counter with a white cap and spritzed the lenses. The smell about bowled me over. Then I realized my error – it wasn’t my lens cleaner, but his super glue accelerator.

Enough of that misery. This made me smile. The grand boys all spiffed up: