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The Scandalous Scotsman
It only took one rogue Lego, to send me tumbling down the stairs, my phone to take flight and me to land—hard.
Somewhere in between, I lost the towel I was draped in, and my phone—bless its chaotic little heart—managed to FaceTime a random contact. Of course, it was a man who was on the receiving end. A man who now, thanks to gravity and a tragically loose towel, has seen more of my body than anyone since my online dating phase. Which, for the record, and thanks to my therapist, ended.
After quickly declining the return call, blindly blocking the number, and deleting it from my phone, I hobbled out the door.
The ER is a circus. But I lock eyes with Judy —a nurse and one of my students' moms—and I beg like my dignity depended on it (it does), she smuggles me into a room like a medical fairy godmother.
Sixty minutes later, I hobble out with crutches, a bruised backside and ego, and a fractured ankle to get to my new classroom to begin setting up for a new school year, before my appointment with an orthopedic surgeon.
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