Last night was supposed to be lots of fun... a night with my girls, with lasagna, salad, chocolate cake, wine (lots of wine) and our favorite episodes of Sex and the City. Yup, it was supposed be a great night...
Until I tried to leave the house.
We have a lot of snow on the ground, and a bunch of icicles hanging from the eaves - eaves which stop halfway across the sidewalk, so when icicles melt, they drip right in the middle of the sidewalk. It's almost like the person who designed these buildings had permanent ice skates on his feet and wanted to be able to have some fun in the winter. We're at the time of year (finally) where it's warm enough during the day for stuff to melt, but cold enough once the sun goes down for it all to re-freeze. And silly me overestimated the competence of the maintenance staff here at ye olde condo complex and their attention to salting.
Despite my penchant for walking slowly, deliberately and carefully when there's even a possibility of ice (some say too much so), I slipped and went down hard, right on my knee. Near-instant bruising and swelling. I slipped and fell again on the way back inside. Three Tylenol and a bag of frozen peas didn't touch it. I begged off girlie night, because L lives on the 2nd floor and there was no way I was making it up the stairs (and even if through some feat of magic I did, I was worried whether I'd make it back down again). I'm hobbling around my house, and I don't know what hurts more - the knee itself, or the huge swollen bruise surrounding it.
I can baby it today, but we have box seats to Avenue Q on Sunday - that should be interesting.