Personal Stories

Well, I Just Broke My Wrist

An exploration of age, dating, and the importance of wearing the right socks.

Tonight I had the unfortunate happen, I broke my wrist.

And while I'd like to think that I could tell you an epic tale of how I was doing something amazing, in reality… I fell over at home.

So how did it happen?

Was it a comical affair of slipping on a banana peel? Had I just finished my last glass of cheap red wine? or given that it’s Halloween today did a wild-eyed spectre suddenly materialise in front of me, shocking me to my very core?

No. I was wearing the wrong socks.

You see, the socks that I was wearing (and mind you, these are my favourite socks) it turns out have about as much grip as lightly melted butter floating on rapidly melting ice, as I found out far too late.

So, where I was a moment before happily vertical, suddenly I was lying on the floor, freshly bruised. With my ego beaten a little, and plenty of adrenaline running through my system, I stood up looked at my rather out of shape right arm and said a single word:

Fuck