THE MOTHER OF INVENTION MEETS COS-PLAY

Lawn Darts Are For Sissies

Go for the gusto

Photo by Matthew Pearce on Unsplash

The story you are about to read is true. At least, it could have been true. But I was on some seriously good drugs at the time, so my memory of the exact events may be somewhat clouded. And of course, the names have been changed to protect the guilty bastards involved.

When I broke my arm three years ago, I never dreamed it would lead to murder.

“Broke my arm” was my doctor’s euphemism for snapping radius and ulna at the wrist, mashing every knuckle on my hand, and creating a spiral break of the humerus so spectacular the nurses in the E. R. still refer to me as “the lady with the arm.”

That’s what happens when you miss the top step and launch head (and hand) first into a cinderblock wall beside a glass door. I expect I was lucky I didn’t hit the door.

Realigning the bones and slapping on a partial cast was supposed to mend it. I protested, in vain. And yet, my doctor evinced surprise when my arm healed crooked and an inch and a half shorter than my other arm.

My husband, Edwin, said I was being unnecessarily melodramatic taking so much time off work. When I started to recover, he said I needed a hobby ‘to take my mind off things’ — could he possible have…