Darn socks

My new socks don’t like me (I don’t blame them). Every morning I tear their mouths open and choke their throats with my feet. My apparel has never attempted to harm me until this afternoon.

I was at my PC and the kettle had finished boiling so I bounced off my chair, lunged to the kitchen and slipped on the tiles. Thrown off balance—and falling—I had enough time to say ‘shit’ before my right knee and right shoulder connected with the ground.

Luke's-eye view

Shoulder’s sore, otherwise I’m fine (thanks for your legitimate show of concern, Sheridan). And my cup of tea, afterwards, was worth the trip.

Moral of the story: yes, Sheridan, we’ll watch Evil Dead tonight.


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