Monday, May 7, 2007


Warning--this is just me whining and has no relation to diet. Just in the interest of full disclosure so you don't get to the end of this and say, "What does that have to do with weight loss or health?"

Remember the old disaster movie spoof "Airplane?" Leslie Nielsen's character, puffing on a dozen cigarettes at once, says something like "Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit smoking."

Well, looks like I picked the wrong day to start training for a marathon--or to walk, for that matter. See, I have a couple of boo-boos.

It all started at Home Depot, as so many of my personal disaster stories have since Hurricane Katrina. Last week, a plumber told me my bathroom sink leak couldn't be repaired--I needed to replace the 1930s-era faucet set in my 1900-era house, but I probably couldn't find anything to fit so I'd need a new sink too, and then once the 1930s pedestal sink came out I'd need to refloor the bathroom because the tile wouldn't fit around a different-sized base.


I search the Internet for the rare faucet set with a 12-inch spread, highly resenting that I am not independently wealthy, surrounded by servants and know things like what a widespread faucet set is. And I find a few 12" ones from restoration sites but they're outrageously expensive.

So I go sink shopping. I find a nice beadboard white small vanity that will fit in the tiny bathroom and has a larger base so I don't have to refloor the room. A nice marble vanity top and sink. An old-fashioned looking brushed nickel faucet set. And home I go.

Superwoman! I decide to unload the car, having no handy-dandy males standing around flexing their muscles and offering to help.

I manage the 75-pound vanity up the brick stairs with much huffing, puffing and rest-stops along the way.

I pick up the marble vanity top and sink. Hm. About 40 pounds, I'd guess. Piece of cake. I wobble up the steps, into my entry hall and...


I'm lying face down on the floor with my face in the marble sink, my shoes have flown off in multiple directions, my body is twisted in some strange formation. The sink isn't broken--its impact was absorbed, for better or worse, by the middle finger of my right hand. After the immediate shock passed and I managed to get myself upright, I realized the nail of my finger had already, in less than a minute, turned a lovely shade of turquoise that just happened, coincidentally, to match my shirt.

As the day and night passed, new maladies arose. A badly bruised and hyperextended foot. Big-ass bruise on leg and arm, back spasms. Oh and did I mention my finger HURTS LIKE HELL? It's now black and so swollen I'm expecting it to shortly split like a hot dog in the microwave.

Oh well, at least the sink didn't break.

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