The first chapter in my informative and picturesque book will cover things you can't carry even if you think you can. On this list is any type of liquid in an unsealed container. Because no matter how slow you go and no matter how little you have in there, the liquid will not stay in the container. And any amount liquid spilled on a floor with crutches is a bad combination and usually results in a spectacular slow-motion slapstick fall worthy of a vaudeville comedy act. And if you the slow-motion fall doesn't end up with you on the floor, the nightmare that is trying to wipe up said spill will commence. I'm pretty sure I resemble a baby giraffe at the watering hole for the first time each time I try to wipe up a mess, crutch legs splayed wide, stumble stepping as I go. Very pretty.
I'd for sure have to include a chapter or two on what getting dressed is like when you forget your bra and attempt to remedy the situation by crutching from the bathroom to the closet. I'd title this chapter, Warning: Crutches are not meant to be used naked. EVER. No good can come from breasts swinging free as one lurches from one end of the house to the other, the parade of dogs trailing behind. Metal sticks near anyone's precious loveliness is a train wreck you can't look away from. I can only hope the neighbors have caught a video or two of this happening and I'll be able to recoup my losses and get myself a new pair of boobs.
And of course, I'd need a chapter on the perils of cooking while on crutches. Taking things off a hot stove or out of a hot oven while supporting yourself with crutches can be a challenge, if not totally impossible, and requires a lot of awkward lurching and cussing. A simple sandwich requires lots of back and forth to the fridge and sink but the "meal" that broke me would be the brownies. The lesson is that making brownies at the one end of the counter furthest from the sink when one has two functioning legs can be messy. When one has one good leg, a boot and crutches, it's a failure waiting to happen. Pictures of the egg I dripped across the kitchen floor and down the right crutch would need to be included. That and video of the dog trying to lick the egg off later when I'm off balance and carrying the remnants of a cup of tea. (I refer you back to the chapter on carrying liquids. It should not be done.) I now have a pair of chocolate covered crutch handles that are sure to forever remain mucky because I was an idiot, dropped the spoon in the batter and fished it out with two hands despite knowing I had ten crutch steps from the sticky bowl to the sink. And then, because I don’t learn, I did it again.
I feel no shame in telling you I ate almost all of the brownies as soon as they came out of the oven and cooled down enough to shove them into my face. I deserved every last one.
Yeah, so far this book is really just a list of stupid things I've done to myself over the last eight weeks. It's very possible that no one else would need my dribbles of wisdom to get themselves through forced crutch captivity. It’s very possible that others don’t need to try something to know it won’t work. It's very possible I'm just special - bruised and chocolate battered boobs but special nonetheless. It is also very possible that another bad decision might be me licking the handles clean – don’t judge me. I have one swollen dead leg and a lack of chocolate in the house.