Woe is fucking me (apologies in advance for the fucking swearing)

by missmaudy

Yes, well. This last week has best been described as completely fucked.

On Monday, a pair of shoes I’ve worn several times without issue gave me a gigantic blister the size of a 20c piece for no apparent reason. Ouch.

On Tuesday, either the wind caught the car door, or it got caught up on my coat, and it slammed me across the back of the calf. Ouch. Tuesday wasn’t finished with me yet – there was an incident with the toilet seat. I was popping it down to do my thing, and BAM! Dropped it and the frightfully sharp resin-y edge scraped my shin. More ouch.

Wednesday was the piece de resistance of the week thus far. I’m wearing my *very* attractive runners due to the aforementioned sodding 20c piece sized blister and looking nice and fancy from the ankles up because I have a meeting with externals. Meeting goes swimmingly, I’m taking them down the stairs and WHAM!

On my arse.

On the concrete stairs.

Fuck.

(I didn’t even swear. I was a complete sneaker wearing sitting on my arse in the middle of a stairwell with my skirt around my ears professional.)

Because I’m rather ace at falling down, I ended up not hurting anything much aside from my dignity (which was left smeared all over the stairwell). However, I think every muscle in my body from the ankles up hurt like a thing that really hurts a lot. The next day, getting up off my chair was like one of those evolution of man posters – neanderthal to homo sapiens in ten easy steps. I established that my left forearm and right ankle didn’t hurt. Yay.

I got through Thursday without adding to my list of injuries. You can imagine my relief.

Friday dawned, crisp and delicious. I step outside with Doggie and Chaos in tow for our (very slow) morning constitutional. I’ve not taken more than 50 steps and KER-SPLAT. My feet shoot out from underneath me on the wet concrete and I slam my knee into the ground.

Fuck me fucking swinging.

Talk about icing on the cake.

Dear Cosmos,

Ok, I get the fucking message. You want me to

a) Slow down and take life a bit easier and/or

b) Get some new fucking sneakers.

Well, here’s the thing, Cosmos. Taking it easy is all very well and good, but it doesn’t get the toilet cleaned or the shopping done. So, how about I get the new sneakers and you let gravity return to its usual levels, stop throwing bits of cars and toilet seats at me? I promise I will try my best to do that relaxing crap  thing be a little more Zen and a little less control freak anal retentive.

Yours VERY Sincerely

Maudy

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