Busted.

Considering all of the stuff I used to do as a kid, it's probably a miracle that I didn't sustain at least one broken bone. I'd climb trees, jump off of large rocks, dive, play contact sports, took horseback riding lessons... and the worst injury I sustained was a sprained wrist when I slipped on the ice while skating. I split my head and other appendages open on rocks, sustained multiple wasp and hornet stings, and probably spent the first several years of life with perpetual scabbed knees -- with nary a trip to the emergency room.

Maybe that makes it even sillier to admit that I broke my right pinky finger just falling off the street a couple of days ago. Yes, that's right -- I fell off the street. I wasn't even drinking at the time! The town has been repaving some of the crummiest sections of plowed-up pavement around town, a fact I was well aware of when I decided to take The Lovely One for a little walk down the street to the river. The newly-paved road rises quite a ways above the shoulder in some places now, as much as 6-9 inches.

I wasn't watching where I was going, quite frankly. Like Wile E. Coyote going off a cliff, I stepped off the pavement into thin air, realized my mistake a half-second too late, and then succumbed to the pull of gravity. Unlike Wile E., however, I plopped face-first into a stretch of newly-laid pavement -- rummy, rummy. The leash flew out of my hands, and Dinah skittered down a nearby driveway. Thank heavens there were no cars and no witnesses. The judges would have given me a 9.5 for the dive.

When I picked myself up, Dinah was my first concern. She came right back after I called her, and I caught her leash. In spite of being covered neck-to-knees with fresh tar, I briefly considered continuing the walk -- but my hands and knees were scraped, one hand was bruised and hurt like hell, and my dignity was wounded beyond repair. We turned around and headed for home.

I changed my tarry clothes and scrubbed the tar off those parts of me that didn't hurt too much to scrub. My right pinkie was purple, but I chalked that up to a bad sprain. Greg and I dropped over to visit Dale and Val for burgers, veggies, and beer, and to smooch on their puppies for a while. My finger hurt badly and looked worse, but I was fine as long as I didn 't bump it on anything (dog heads, corn on the cob, beer bottles...).

The next morning, it was no better. I decided to spend the morning at the local urgent care center instead of at rally-roo -- for which I owe Seamus yet another apology. The nice nurses and techs took me in, looked me over, took some X-rays, and introduced me to the doctor. He showed me the break in my pinky on the films and splinted the thing for me. Armed with instructions on how to take care of my finger and whom to call once the country opens up for business again on Tuesday, I climbed into the car and faced my first challenge: How to get my car keys into the ignition while encased in a splint that extended beyond the length of my fingers. (Stick them in left-handed and try awkwardly to start the car with your left hand while leaning over. Fun, fun, fun -- and so graceful-looking, too.)

Greg called as I was attempting to start the car, which made stopping to answer the phone an adventure in itself. When I explained where I was and why, he mentioned that two of his favorite church choir members had invited us to their place on Moody Beach for lunch. Since I was just around the corner from the church, I agreed to meet him -- but only if he'd drive us to the beach. He agreed.

We had a delightful time visiting on the beach -- took a walk, enjoyed a nice grilled lunch, smooched on their little Yorkie, and stayed around just chatting and laughing for much of a perfect sunny afternoon. They've sold their house on the beach and will be moving to a newer house in town in November, so this is one of the few remaining summer days they have left before they go. They say that after 15 years in the old house, they won't miss the view -- but I know I would.

Anyway, I get to visit the orthopedist tomorrow and come home wearing something -- whether it's a splint, a cast, or "buddy tape" -- but all I hope for is that whatever contraption I get to wear will allow me to take showers, start my car, and fasten my bra (which I had to ask Greg to do for me). Being able to hold a fork or a pen would be a nice bonus.