The vision of grace

So, I was always graceful as a child. All those ballet lessons and and meditation really paid off to give me great poise.
Ok, maybe I lie.
So yesterday afternoon, at work, I was dancing about and acting the fool on the playground, as I am apt to do on a Friday afternoon. But the difference this time is that I somehow slipped over my Croc and fell flat on my face. It was really elegant, I'm sure. The teachers who were standing around politely stifled their laughter before coming to help me back up. Falling stinks.
I'm mostly ok, except for one foot. My right foot is hurting in a special kind of way. It's not swollen or purple or visually off in any way, but I know there is a problem because it feels like there's a knife going through it when I put weight on it.
This is all fine and well for a typical weekend. I'm really not one that minds spending a quiet weekend at home having someone wait on me for a while. But this weekend was different. I was supposed to be walking in the Komen Race thing today. I got up at 7:00 with great hope of being miraculously cured. I hobbled to the bathroom and back thinking maybe, just maybe, that would stretch the foot out, pop it back into place, something to make it feel better. But it didn't. I flumped back into bed in defeat. I had really been excited about this walk. It was in support of someone very lovely. So many people have donated money in honor of the walk, and of Debbie. Several of my coworkers, and even a couple of my graduated students are walking in it. Clay had even agreed to walk it with me. And now that's all shot because I'm a clumsy tard who trips over her Crocs.
And now Clay won't even get up to make me breakfast. What a bum weekend this is turning out to be.