I am walking with a pronounced limp these days courtesy of an injury during the annual Labor Day kids against the parents whiffle ball game in our neighbor’s backyard.
I wish I could tell you I injured my left foot with a stellar play or a high kicking slide at the plate. I injured my foot when I jammed three of my toes into the dirt while batting.
I am going to call it turf toe. Or in this case turf toes.
I try my best to walk normal. However, I gave up trying to hide the injury. It hurts too bad even when I talk a couple of aspirin to dull the pain. At some point Captain Obvious screams to you “Did you hurt your foot?”
I would respect people more if they asked “how did I hurt my foot?” That makes more sense.
The second response is “You must be getting old.”
I always reject that one because I’ve been twisting ankles and moving around on crutches since high school. I always hurt my feet or ankles. When I did it at 20 it was bad luck. When I do it in my 50s it is just because I am getting old. This old butt was trying to help my team rally for victory but we fell short.
Now I walk more like a gimp than a pimp.
“Now was it worth playing in that game,” my wife Abs said.
You damn right it was.