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| Do these come in a left-handed version? Or am I doing something wrong? |
"At least it's not even 4am yet," I thought to myself. "No people, no traffic. That should save me a bit of embarrassment. Now, if I can just pick myself up and dust myself off before anyone sees me, I'll grab my scooter, carry on to work and we can forget this silly incident ever happened."
Except I couldn't. I couldn't pick myself up. I couldn't seem to move at all.
"No people," I thought. "No traffic."
Then I realised what the problem was; there seemed to be a laptop on my head. My bag had come flying forward when I had, landing on me heavily as I skidded down the hill like Superman, except, as I was about to discover, not quite as invincible.
"No worries, I'll just shove that laptop off and I'll be on my way. Hope my computer's alright."
Shove shove I didn't at all. In no way. No shove. Bugger.
No people. No traffic.
"Why can't I move, dammit?" I think I actually said that one out loud. I was getting a bit frustrated now. There seemed to be something wrong with my right shoulder. I tried to move it with a little more intent. "AAAAaaarrrgh!" I said, definitely out loud this time. Then there was a bit of heavy breathing, possibly some snivelling and probably a whimper or two. I was going to need some help here, trouble was...
No people. No traffic.
Perhaps I could ring someone on my awesome Nokia Lumia 800 Windows phone. Well I could... except my phone was in the right front pocket of my coat which meant at that particular moment I was lying on it.
It was about then I realised I'd just have to accept it; I was now left-handed. I'd rather not think about what happened immediately after that, needless to say there was huffing, puffing, screaming, yelling, crying and a lot of stopping to put my head between my legs so I wouldn't pass out. I'd like to describe my 1 and a half block ascent to work as a heroic struggle of mind and determination over pain and adversity, but I probably just looked like some drunken hunchback dragging a scooter and a laptop bag up a short rise.
So many questions... Why didn't I just leave the scooter behind? Why was I on a scooter at 4am anyway? Am I an idiot? Some questions I can answer, some remain a mystery. The point is, I got to work, couldn't move, they called an ambulance, I went to hospital, my shoulder was dislocated and now it's RElocated.
I've been left with my right arm in a sling and an 80% chance of popping the bloody thing out again. Needless to say, I'm now being fairly careful how I go about my day. Who knew how difficult left-handed tooth-brushing would be? Obviously the left-handed bum-wipe has netted mixed results and as for my left-handed shaving efforts, I'm just relieved to have avoided decapitation so far.
While I was still able to construct my regular Sunday morning treat of poached eggs on toast this week, it was a humbling experience to have to ask the Domestic Manager to cut it up for me so I could actually eat it. See those headshots on either side of this post? Believe it or not, I cut my own hair to achieve that eye-catching style. My recent left-handed efforts are somewhat more avant garde. I've never heard amputees talk of their unique sock application challenges. It's obviously a cross they've been willing bear in stoic silence thus far, but now I'm breaking that silence, man. Putting on socks with one hand is virtually impossible! Why don't they make them with some sort of hoop at the top for easy access? It's like they're not hollow at all. Damn you socks! Why must you keep returning to your original 2-dimensional state? I almost had a big toe in there then but no, there goes righty-sock, catapulted across the bedroom like a deflating balloon.
Then the ultimate knock down of my last few remaining pegs; the tomato relish jar.
I'm not really what you'd call a man's man. I'm no fighter. I'm not outdoorsy and to be honest, I'm just as happy with a cocktail in my hand as I am sucking on a beer. But one thing I can do, is open jars. (Insert Tim Allen style man-grunt here) Imagine my horror when the Domestic Manager tried to uncap the relish the other night (obviously without success) and DIDN'T EVEN GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO OPEN IT! She just put it back in the fridge where it tormented me all weekend, every time I opened the door. Today, I decided I wanted relish, so the Domestic Manager had another go. Still no joy. Now was my chance. She protested. I insisted. She relented. I took the jar. I failed completely. She had another go. Off came the lid.
"I must've loosened it for you," I joked in an obligatory way, but I did not relish the relish.
It tasted bitter somehow, as I adjusted my sling and looked ahead to my new life as a lefty.
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| In the wrong hand, this could be a murder weapon |
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