Oh my god, my groin really hurts.
No, not that part of it, sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter.
The muscle that connects my leg to… I don’t know what… to something… somewhere… in the pelvic region. That part hurts.
I have a groin injury.
And the worst part is that I don’t even know how I did it. I got out of bed this morning and it immediately hurt. And it’s not like I had FUN doing it. I’ve actually pulled that muscle before but at least THAT time, I knew EXACTLY what I had been doing to deserve such pain… and THAT time had been TOTALLY worth it. Yup. Completely. But this… this sucks! I probably pulled it doing something stupid like an artistic ballerina bend to pick up an errant dirty Kleenex or something. Because I do that. I think housework should be like art… interpretive dance or something. Hey, it gets me to clean the living room… stop looking at me like that.
My drive to Appleton was for naught yesterday. I did score some expensive panties, but the little Irish store which Belle told me about was out of Hobnobs. No nobbly goodness was to be had. Incredibly Nice Irish Lady told me that she would have more next week. And then she held me and patted me on the back when I cried about not having Hob Nobs to nibble upon.
Today, however, Esteban suggested that we go BACK to Appleton for lunch at the incredibly good Machine Shed restaurant. He is feeling guilty because he has plans tonight and will be leaving me alone and was trying to make up for it by indulging me. I don’t know why he has such guilt. He’s worried about me snowboarding as well. But then he scorns my attempts at being a bad ass, citing that if I pulled my groin muscle scooping up the cat or some such, what would I be like after falling upon my ass seventy-two times? But, I tried to explain, my ass is well-padded whereas my groin muscle is more a question of flexibility or possibly bad artistic housecleaning.
This all could have been avoided had I had the Hob Nobs. I’m certain that was the problem.
So we went to the Machine Shed for lunch and then walked all the way around the incredibly over-populated mall. I went into Hot Topic and felt really old. I drooled over some Doc Martens which Esteban christened “Nun Shoes”. I bought $40 worth of nice stinking candles and then made Esteban carry what he called “The bag of stink” all around the mall. Then I went into the Disney store and harassed some underpaid clerk because they don’t have Little Mermaid t-shirts in 4x. Nor Princess t-shirts. Because what are they telling people… that Princesses aren’t plus size? I’m a princess, mister and I’m a plus size princess damn it! And get me some Ariel footy pajamas too!
Anyway.
Esteban then changed my windshield wiper blades for me because he felt guilty that I had to put my own windshield washer fluid in my car myself after driving around for a week without any. I didn’t care, but this makes him feel husbandy, taking care of the little woman and other 1950’s dreck like that.
Ok, who am I kidding? I like that he puts in windshield washer fluid for me. I like to not have to think about it. In exchange for this, I wash the skid marks out of his Fruit of the Looms. But does that make me not a feminist? Does that mean that I shouldn’t get to wear a Princess t-shirt?
Bah.
Maybe I should just go pour myself some Asti and sit on the couch, heating pad on my groin, light up some good stink candles, and watch Bring It On for the 142nd time. Yup. That’s what I’m going to do.
Just don’t mind me. It’s the groin pain talking.
