Friends. This happened tonight. I am home now and I think I’m going to survive but it was…touch and go for a while there.
Running into an acquaintance 15 years from now, probably not at a grocery store: “Whoa, you and Henry broke up? What happened?”
Me: “Well, a chainsaw guy at a haunted house….”
Additional thoughts: this happened at the very end of the haunted house (which was 100% SO GOOD and I’m not mad about this, it was an accident plus we signed waivers so can’t go Full Karen on the place) and I knew it happened, could feel the pain immediately, and usually I would run like a scared deer from the damn chainsaw guy but I was legit frozen in place, hugging Henry, and then I just like, quietly limped away because I wasn’t sure at that point how bad it was and if my ankle would just like, split in half if I started to aggressively run. So I casually limped back to the car and then whispered, “I think the chainsaw guy cut my ankle and I’m afraid to look” to Henry who had no reaction because he was probably daydreaming about the gas station he was going to buy on the way home (“Mmm Slim Jims”). I risked a quick peek when I got in the car and IMMEDIATELY started screaming and panicking, trying to slather on bandaids with shaking hands while holding back bile-burps.
But now I’m home, wound is clean and bandaged, but I still won’t put any weight on it when I walk. I’m walking on the toes of the injured foot, but with the knee bent and then my other leg is like “let me bend a little too” so I look like a gimp leprechaun or something I dunno, OR SOMETHING.
I’m about to pass out. Chooch is disgusted and said there is no reason for this much drama and then he retreated to his room and Henry just like, left the house. I mean, ok leave me alone with an injury of this magnitude, sure. At least I have 4 wheelchairs at my disposal.