live-cycle

Why is it always that, when the boys go out to play on their bikes and then get hurt, the thing that pains us most is going home to tell the wife?
Yesterday I was out riding with Andrew, and under strict instructions not to be late because we were going shopping, when I had a slight misadventure while crossing a couple of logs. Nothing serious, very slow speed, off sideways, up again in no time and no damage done. Well, I thought no damage done until Andrew punctured a bit later, and I noticed a trickle of blood running down into my right shoe. Seemed that I had been stabbed by my big chainring, which had gouged out a piece of flesh right on my ankle. It didn’t hurt at all, but to prevent mud getting into the wound we cadged a bandage from some council cleaners and continued with our ride.
Finally Andrew said we ought to go home, so that I could face the music - and that’s always the bit that hurt most. Mrs R, a former nurse, told me that I was a stupid boy, and would probably need stitches. She then went into nursey mode and cleaned and dressed the injury, which began to really hurt. Then she took me off shopping, and made me pay for a very large first aid kit. The woman at the counter asked if we were expecting some kind of serious injury. Mrs R just gave her a very stern look, and I just paid the bill.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 21st, 2009 at 8:27 am and is filed under Dennis. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.