A few days ago I was in the gym and had a little mishap with a couple dumbbells that resulted in me pulverizing my right thumb. I figured I went to “snap city” on the bitch right away, and the damage was already done, so said Fuck It and threw some iron for another hour. Probably not the smartest move on my part, but an “A” in determination for sure.
The next day, I was over in Glorietta to grab a couple things, and stopped by the little supplement store I always shop at. I have a pretty good time always chatting with the clerks in there, and they know me pretty well (have even picked up a little of my more “colorful” use of the English language). They saw the thumb, and asked what had happened, and if it was broken. I’m no doctor, but when a digit is damn near twice the original size, and looks like something out of a cartoon, there’s probably a pretty good chance something is snapped. (As of this morning I still haven’t bothered to go to the hospital – it’s only a thumb) I told them I wasn’t sure, but that a doctor visit is on the “to do” list.
Chime in some little pear shaped bitch off, just to my right, that has been just standing there like a shrub for the entire conversation – “Maybe you should get a massage”. I turned and looked at her with the “are you fucking stupid” look in my eyes, and said, “Excuse me?” “Oh, yes Sir, maybe a massage would help it.” That was it – zero to red in .12 seconds. “When would you ever, EVER massage a fucking fracture?” “What do you do for a living?” Lil Miss Bobolicious looks at me, like I’ve got a dick growing out of my forehead, and states, “I’m a licensed Physical Therapist, Sir.”
I didn’t even know what to say, so “Fuck me” just slipped through my lips and I turned and walked out of the store with the two clerks chuckling…
**Pictures available upon request ;-)**Published in