Oh, for crying out loud

What the fuck, Wilma? First, you're so supposed to arrive Saturday night, prompting us to cancel massive fundraisers scheduled for the Nature Center this weekend. We even announced that we would be closed for the weekend, and we cancelled all field trips for Friday -- Monday. Yeah, it's not like we need the money or anything.

Plus, you gave me a major buzzkill when I got in my car Wednesday morning and heard that not only had you gone from a 2 to a 5 overnight, but you were the strongest storm ever recorded.

Then you decided to linger in Cancun and Cozumel, putting off your entrance until Monday night. Okay, fine, do what you want; at least I get Monday off work now. I can't be bothered with you any longer. You probably won't even be a hurricane when you finally get here anyway.

But, so help me, god, if I turn on the radio tonight and hear that you're not getting here until Tuesday or Wednesday or Thanksgiving. At that point, it will be on, beeyotch.

Speaking of beeyotchs, I had a very unpleasant experience in the Target parking lot about two hours ago. As I walked back to my car, I stepped up on the curb of one of the grassy medians -- and promptly twisted my ankle (or something down there) and fell off the curb and onto my knees. I scraped my right leg and ripped up my left foot pretty well (mmm, couple that with the ant and sand gnat bite scars on that foot, and I am one sexy lady); I also seem to have ruptured something in my foot as it is disgustingly swollen (I keep getting hotter) and I can't move it or put any weight on it.

What hurts almost more than falling is that a woman watched me fall as she chatted on her cell phone by her stupid electric blue Kia Sportage, parked next to my van. She watched me fall, watched me sit on the ground and cry, and watched me limp to my car, dirty, bloody, and swollen. When I got near her -- I had to since she was parked next to me -- she turned her back on me. Did she ever do the human thing and ask if I was okay? Mmm, no.

It's not like I wanted her to carry me on her back to the walk-in clinic or anything; a simple, "Are you okay?" would have sufficed. Maybe I'm wrong; I mean, I do say "Gesundheit" or "Bless you" (know your audience) whenever a stranger sneezes in my general vicinity. I don't expect strangers to do the same for me, but it is nice when they do. However, when you watch someone get hurt and bleed and limp, I feel like you should say something, even if it is "Have a nice trip?" That way you're at least acknowledging the other person. Am I wrong to expect a little empathy from fellow humans?

I gave her the finger as I drove past her (she did turn around to watch me drive away), and that made me feel a little better, briefly. My dad talked me into going to the walk-in clinic, just because they probably won't be open tomorrow (thanks again, Wilma). However, if my insurance doesn't cover it, I'm just going to go home, stick my foot into a bucket of ice, and break into my hurricane beer. Beer makes everything better.

*****

UPDATE: Turns out that the walk-in clinics were already closed for the storm that is coming on Monday, so I had to go to the emergency room at the hospital. I was shocked -- SHOCKED -- that I was in and out of there in less than two hours. I was so impressed with the ER staff that I've already written and sent a letter to our local paper praising them.

Anyhoo, I broke my foot. I broke my foot by, more or less, falling off a sidewalk. I now feel justified for flipping the bird to that lovely woman in the parking lot. I also feel justified in spending the next few days, hunkered down, drinking beer on the couch. If I'm not coordinated enough to navigate a 6-inch-high curb, I really doubt that I can handle my crutches, so it's best that I stay stationary.

And on a Wilma-note, one forecaster predicts that it will hit here. Dude, I'm not in the mood. Also, as if this isn't common knowledge, newspeople are dumb. I'm watching the local news, where there's a graphic on the screen with a line from Wilma to here with the phrase "486 miles" on the line. The newsperson helpfully points out: "Hurricane Wilma, less than 5oo miles away, but more than 400 miles away." Thank you, newsperson, as I am combining mild painkillers with light beer; I really did need you to point that out.