Tuesday: the new Monday?

I have a pair of black work pants that have been out of commission for a while. The stitching in the hem managed to rip out after getting caught up in one of my heels (no, I didn’t fall, though I can see how you’d imagine that). Roomie received a sewing machine for Christmas and has promised she’d fix them for me. That day came Sunday. I don’t know if alcohol was a factor, but I put them on this morning and the left leg was a good two inches shorter than the right. It’s a good thing I’ve taken to keeping extra clothes at Boy’s house.

I have a paper-cut on the crease of my pointer finger, so whenever it bends (like, say, typing) the weirdest, most annoying sensation flows though my digit. On top of that, I managed to pull something in the back of my knee at soccer last night. All of this has happened since I bruised a finger on my other hand last night by smacking it against my bedroom door. Seriously. No one would ever be surprised if I ever mumbled, “I fell”.

The only redemption of today is a girl-date for film fest. Mothers and Daughters. A movie I clearly couldn’t convince Boy to attend.