Black Tuesday

Let's begin with Valentine's Eve, shall we?  I was in SuperTarget, looking for this shirt, which my friend Vicki was wearing for her own V-Day observance.  Remember how I told you the thing about my ankles being bad?  So there I was, walking along when suddenly my boot heel went out from under me and my right ankle, the feckless wimp, did nothing to stop it.  I thought for a moment that I was going to recover, but it was not to be.  I landed smack on my knees between two racks of yoga pants.  On a positive note, the ankle was not sprained, so I was not forced to hobble, or worse, hop on one boot all the way out of SuperTarget.  Ideally, I would wear nothing but sensible, flat, rubber-soled shoes to avoid this type of situation, but what fun would those be? 

(And also, the worst ankle sprain I've ever suffered happened while wearing tennis shoes.  I was walking down some extremely uneven porch steps and landed on the side of my foot.  I also scraped the hell out of the back of my hand, but did not drop the campaign literature that I had been in the process of hanging on doors.  Now that's commitment.  Or total inability to make good split-second decisions.  Because I so would have sacrificed those door-hangers if I had realized that it meant keeping all of my skin.)

So anyway, I discovered when I got home from Target that my fall was executed in a spirit of great patriotism!  Because it was in keeping with the falls of several members of the US Olympic team.  Sure their falls happened while propelling themselves over sheets of ice or hurtling down snowy mountains, but allow me to say that Target linoleum is nothing if not slick.  Sadly, as is the case for so many Olympians, my fall put me out of medal contention.

Valentine's Day itself dawned bright and beautiful.  Sunlight streamed through my bathroom window, the better to see the new zit above the corner of my mouth by!  And then I went to the pool and got all ready to swim.  Then I pulled my swim cap over my hair, at which time it promptly ripped right up the back.  And I decided to pack it in and go home since there wasn't time to drive to the store, buy a new swim cap, drive back and swim enough laps to make it worthwhile before it was time to go to work.  (I know I haven't talked much about the swimming recently, but rest assured, it continues.)

Then for the real high point of my day.  I got to work to find a dozen roses and a balloon on my officemate's desk.  No big deal until she complained about it being embarrassing and how her boyfriend should have had to come into their meeting to deliver them so he'd have to be as embarrassed as she was.

Valentine tip #1: Whining about receiving roses for Valentine's Day makes you sound like a spoiled princess, upset that you didn't get that gold-plated pony instead.

I did, however, receive a box of Godiva chocolates from one of my students, God bless his mother.  And Newsweek still loves me, judging by its prompt appearance in my mailbox.  So it was an exciting night full of current events, dinner (I cooked, Internet!), Gilmore Girls, and Olympics with the roommates.

And now, if you'll excuse me, a new swim cap is not going to buy itself.  Nor will its cousin, a spare swim cap.