Dagnabbit!

So, I hurt my knee on the beach recently, maybe from picking up litter (all that unaccustomed bending, swiveling, and so on). I waited for it to get better. By last Thursday, the knee was really hurting. At lunchtime I limped down Charlesfield Street to move my car before the meter-checker slapped a parking ticket on it, only to lose the race by ... 44 seconds (see time stamp). FORTY-FOUR FREAKIN SECONDS!!! I was pissed. I swore, I scowled at the ticket. I moved my car. I summoned the spirit of Yogi Berra yet again and howled, "I know it's correct, but it ain't right!" Michael calmly advised that we pay the $15 fine and fuggedaboutit. I paid, but I won't forget. Next time I see Officer M.S. Landi, I have a few choice words for him!

By Friday my knee was a mess. I was crying from pain by the time I walked from my car to the office. At lunchtime (no ticket, woot!) I drove over to Rhode Island Hospital's ER and dragged myself to the intake desk, begging to see an orthopedist.


A cheerful young orderly rolled me in a wheelchair to the examining room, and after manipulating my patella in ways that brought tears to my eyes, a doctor advised me that I apparently had sprained my knee. He gave me a referral to the nearest orthopedic practice, along with directions to double my Aleve intake, stay off the knee, and use a brace if possible.


Poor me! Poor knee!

I spent the weekend lounging around and ruining my GI tract with gargantuan doses of Aleve. The increased dose did, however, ease my knee pain considerably. By this morning, Labor Day, crazy with cabin fever, I volunteered to drive the kids and one friend to the Wrentham Outlets for some last-minute school bargains, provided I could park near the few stores I planned to hobble into. It was a fool's errand. Approximately a million people were at the outlets. I cruised for nearly a half-hour, attempting to find a parking place that wasn't a half-mile walk from the shops. Twice I was cut off by jerks who zoomed into just-vacated parking spaces I had been watching. I stopped to tell one of the jerks that he was a jerk. He said, "Awww, too bad."


Finally, I scrawled a note (above) and put it prominently in my front window, and parked in the ample handicapped area across from the Nautica store. I went in with Kevin, bought him a pair of nice khakis for $24.99, went back out, and found.... this:



I love how the cop crossed out the $50 fine and wrote in $150.00.

I hope Kevin gets some good wear out of his $175 khaki pants.

Maybe this week will get better.