Lately, I’ve been feeling left out when listening to the conversation of friends my age and older. Most of them have some kind of aliment or medical condition they can ramble on about for hours. The only thing I had was an occasional flare-up of gout, which while extremely painful, was barely enough to rate an eyeroll among a crowd of suffering seniors.
The Good Lord must’ve taken notice of my silence on the sidelines. A few weeks ago, I noticed a tenderness under my right knee cap. The pain continued to grow, followed by inflammation. A visit to the orthopedic clinic revealed I had cracks in my meniscus (how’s that for medical terminology?). On Monday, I underwent arthroscopic surgery and now have no trouble holding my own when the subject of medical maladies pops up in conversation. Boy, am I lucky or what?
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the fastest moving feet in Belton, MO is Runny Babbit Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Outside the courtroom, Henderson spun Shelley around to face him. “What were you doing in there? Trying to get ten days for contempt?” Shaking his head, he grumbled, “I ought to knock two thousand off my offer for the car.”
“Too late.” Shelley handed him the envelope. “You’ve already written the check. Here’s the title. Now, go jump in your little Rabbit and hop, hop, hop all over town.”
She squeaked a pirouette in her purple PF Flyers and skipped down the hall into the waiting arms of Officer LePew, who fitted Shelley with her very own custom ankle monitor.
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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