Burning Joints & An Elicitous Ending

Yesterday, my girlfriend accidentally discovered that my fucking hamstring was multi-coloured: bruise-yellow with a few intensely-red snakes of burst capillaries; I say "accidentally" because she emerged from the bedroom to find me completely disrobed at the front door, laying face-down on the carpet, mumbling "razza-frazza" as though channeling Fred Flintstone after he dropped a bowling ball on his foot.

So, off to the doctor I went, and I told her this:


She said, "Well, you won’t be hitting any homeruns for a while."

I said, "You don’t know that! I’ll train, I’ll put in the effort, I’ll heal!"

I said, defiantly, "I’ll be the best again! You just watch me!"

She said, after a moment, "Didn’t you say that you hurt yourself during your YEAR-END tournament?"

I said, "Oh."

I followed that up with, "Right."

She said, "You’re bruising because you did everything but tear your hamstring; as long as you don’t try to aggravate it, you’ll be fine."

I said, "Oh."

I said, in a tiny voice, "Thank you."

She said, "That’s okay."

She said, smiling, "Now, will you please stop calling us?"

I said, "Never!"