Posterior update

It's blacker and bluer, in case you were wondering.

Now, I don't normally assess my own ass--nor have I made a habit of doing so over the last week-- but I was just in a dressing room of Banana Republic, about to try on a pair of pants, when a large stretch of black and blue caught my eye. It's like when my mother loses her train of thought upon catching a glimpse of my supposedly epic stomach--it's so all-consuming that she forgets what she was saying and must stare in amazement at my gut. It's not quite like that, but there I was, about to put on a pair of pants, when I caught sight of a headlight-shaped discoloration.

BTW, the rest of me is fine. I still feel the strain in my neck in the morning and when I turn my neck more than slightly, and I still get the odd flash headache, but it's all manageable. I even washed my hair this morning without feeling any pain when I pressed on my scalp.

I'm definitely very wary about crossing streets, especially in the dark. I didn't actually want to go to Banana tonight, but it made sense. See, I was at a conference during the day (observations: pen-clicking is the conference equivalent of slowly unwrapping hard candy in a theatre, i.e. it's annoying) and stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home. Only to discover, upon arriving at home, that one of the sweet potatoes in the bag had gone off. So I wanted to return it right away. But I'd also gotten an order from Banana that I'd placed online, and I had to return one of the items (I'd accidentally ordered two of the same), and since I was going to TJ's, I thought I may as well go another five blocks or so to Banana. Except that once in Banana, I can't help but shop. So I did. Which led to me to the dressing room, and to the bruise assessment.

Along the way there and back, I was very wary about any turning cars. I passed Cameron Street, noticed how narrow it is on the west side of Washington, how fast she must have been going to hit me and almost hit the other guy when she was nowhere in sight when either of us started crossing. At the same time, I noticed how many cars that were turning did notice a pedestrian in the crosswalk (most of them even stopped), but I realized how easy it would be for anyone to come out of nowhere. So be really careful out there, or you, too, might end up with a distracting bruise on your butt.

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I'm not one of those people who thinks, 'I'd better put on nice underwear in case I get hit by a bus,' although I am, now, one of those people who will never let my house get so bad that, if I get hit by a car, I feel the need to pre-clean before friends come over to help me clean. But I digress. Even though what the emergency responders, for example, think is the least of my concerns (and theirs), you can't help but get a bit prickly--if only in your head--when you're asked certain questions (no, there's no chance I'm pregnant; no, I most certainly do not weigh 130 lbs; half a glass of wine--is that so wrong?) or when you hear information about yourself repeated to another person charged with your care (I know I'm 32, but I hear "we have a 32 year old female" and I think, is that me? Am I 32?). I still do not, however, care what they think about my underwear (or weight, age, alcohol consumption, etc.).