Once an idiot...

I forgot I had to teach tonight. I raced home, pissed off at myself for being so forgetful. I scarfed dinner, made the boy put air in my bike tires, and flew out the door.

I went eight blocks before I did a dumb thing* and ended up flying over my bike and landing hard on my right hand and left elbow. I type this entry now in the hunt and peck manner I haven't used since I was ten. I can't move my right hand without severe pain, although a phone call to my father-in-law, Doc, put the boy's mind to rest that it's probably not broken. We won't discuss the beautiful colors on my legs.

Some kind woman named Shelly stopped her SUV and sat with me while I made the requisite sobbing phone calls to my job and my husband. She also procured BandAids and an ice pack (!) from her car. Thank you, Shelly.

I spent the rest of the night watching Warren Sapp on Dancing with the Stars (he's adorable!) and forcing my husband to do things like take off my bra and make me tea and listen to me whine about how it hurts to move my hand.

Note: stop doing dumbass things on your bike.

*No, it wasn't texting while biking. I haven't been riding much and I'm just plain out of practice doing some really basic things. I was slowing down and going to turn, so I was attempting to signal that I was turning to the car behind me and I accidentally hit the front brake to slow down instead of the back brake and then I was jolted forward unexpectedly, causing me push harder on the front brake and then, shit, I'm going over the handlebars. It was no one's fault but my own andI feel really, really, really dumb. And in pain.