Broken Ankle
I went to an outdoor art fair today. Beautiful weather, some interesting art, all more than I could afford. I went to the liquor store nearby, picked up some necessities, blah blah blah.As I walk back to my car, parked in a corner space, I see a group of older women walking across the grass to the parking lot. Now, when I say older, I mean gray hair and orthopedic shoes and Alfred Dunner outfits. The youngest of the group was probably 50, and that's what she shall be called.
'50' apparently hadn't received the latest memo about dressing for one's age. She was wearing sparkly purple capris, with a matching sparkly purple/black/green top. Her shoes were 4" black velour platforms. Stylin' and profilin'.
As I unlock my car and place my liquor in the trunk, I'm staring rather unabashedly at this group coming at me. At the intersection of curb and parking lot, '50' takes a misstep and twists her ankle on the curb. Down she goes!
Being in the medical profession, as she claims to be, her ankle is declared broken. She heard it snap. Her elderly friends stand there gaping at each other for a moment. I ask if '50' is okay, and state that I'm going to get some first aid help. I return to the throng that is the art fair, hunt down a red-shirted volunteer, and explain the situal.
Returning to the scene of the crime, three volunteers eventually show up. They've called an ambulance. The women are standing around muttering that it was '50's' shoes that did her in. The ensuing conversation went like this:
"Are you going to the hospital with her?"
"I don't want to go."
"If it were you, I'd go, but not with her."
"I've spent too much time in hospitals."
"Well, someone should go with."
I hung around while the ambulance folks strapped up the offending ankle and got '50' into the ambulance. Hell, I had no choice - my car was in their way! They were using it to lean against, prop things up against, etc. I didn't dare offer to move it, as I know that my reverse sometimes sticks and lurches forward at times. No way was I going to take the chance to run someone over with witnesses standing there!
I bided my time, waiting for the old biddies to figure out who was going with, who wasn't, etc. Thank god these weren't my friends - I'd kick their asses if they had to draw straws to see who came with me!
Moral of the story? Dress your age! And make sure those you call friends, actually are.
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