Forward: Mom, Dad, family members (besides Jack) and friends of my parents who read this, I understand I just wrote about how I like when you all ready my blog, but today, I don't think you should read this post. I know you will anyway, but don't say I didn't warn you.
This weekend I wanted to have a low-key weekend. The Family is gone skiing so I had the house to myself, Friday I stayed in applied for jobs and lazed about. Saturday I applied for jobs and organized my Gmail account (Kristen you'd be so proud), but had plans to meet up with some au pairs for dinner around six. We have a great time at dinner and head over to the "au pair bar" (i.e. cheapest beer/wine in Switzerland) where I share two bottles of wine with my friend Sarah. After that We go to one more bar and I have a beer, so, for me, it wasn't a copious amount of alcohol. I made it onto my 10:50 pm bus, proud of myself for not having spent a lot of money that night and make the journey home. About 1/4 of the way though I start to feel sick. Like if-this-bus-keeps-bumping-I'm-going-to-vomit sick. I decide that I have to get off. Now. So I press for the next stop and get off the bus. And by get off the bus I mean immediately fall out of the bus. More embarrassed than anything I stand up and realize, I can't stand up. There is something wrong with my left foot. Super. So now I have to wait for a half hour for my next bus and my foot hurts.
Naturally my next train of thought is not to sit and wait at this stop, but to walk for a half hour to one of the stops down the road. And by walk, I mean limp. I reach down to brush off my knees when I realized I had two gaping holes in my favorite pair of black, skinny, J.Crew jeans. I could hardly walk (didn't throw up by the way, the fresh air made me feel a lot better) but I was much more upset about my pants. So the first thing I thought to do was to call Howie, who bought me the pants when I visited her in Chicago over Christmas. (Note to Jill: International calls from you pay as you go phone are expensive.) As I was hobbling along I thought to myself: this is a new low, even for me.
Once I finally make it home, at which time my foot is in a constant state of pain, I barely change into my p.j.'s and grab some ice packs to stick around my elevated foot and try to fall asleep. I wake up around six feeling like crap and a half, try to get out of bed to go to the bathroom and cannot. I had to crawl, yes crawl, up the stairs and into the bathroom. It felt so nice in there that I pulled a B.J. and laid down on the bathroom floor (thank goodness the cleaning lady had come the day before!). I realized that napping on the bathroom floor because it hurt too much to move, was definitely a newer low. I am definitely grateful the family wasn't here to experience this.
I've gotten to the point where I can put some pressure on it and kind of drag my foot, hunchback style, as I walk and I no longer need to crawl up the stairs (just hop and drag myself using the railing--it's really graceful I can assure you) so it's improving!
However, I am still upset about my jeans.