After walking around my workplace today in a sling occasioned by careless and clumsy misuse of my arm muscles last night, it occurred to me (not for the first time) that I needed some kind of generic t-shirt printed. Something along the lines of:
“Yes, I hurt myself.
No, it was just a clumsy accident.
Yes, it’s quite painful.
No, don’t know how long it will be until it gets better.
Thanks for your concern.”
This was after the (roughly) fiftieth repetition of my somewhat embarrassing tale of muscular woe. Each inquiry was kind, well meant, and faintly embarrassing, and many of the people around me wound up hearing the tale rather more often than they cared to (ie once). Fortunately tonight my husband came up with an idea whose time has clearly come:
Custom printed bandages, slings and casts.
I envisage an ordering process that starts with type of injury, proceeds through body part, pain levels, expected recovery time, and finishes with a catch-all thank you message.
Something like this:
“Yes, I <pulled/sprained/cut/tore/broke/severed>
my <neck/arm/wrist/leg/knee/ankle/foot/toe/entire body>.
It was a <skiing/snow boarding/cycling/running/psychotic team sport/random act of startling clumsiness> injury.
It’s <not too bad/a little sore/quite painful but I’m trying to be brave/utterly agonising/worse than sitting through question time in Parliament/way hay look at the pretty rainbow unicorns eating painkillers what did you ask me again?>.
It’s going to take <no time at all/just a few days/the rest of my natural life, don’t remind me it’s driving me MAD>
before I can <ski/snow board/run/ride/beat people up and call it a sport/walk like a normal person/pretend to be coordinated> again.
Thanks so much for your <concern/sympathy/cruel mockery/open mirth>,
it really makes me <feel better/despair/want to stab you in the eye with my bandage fasteners (Man! Those things could do you a real injury!)>.
I think we may be onto a winner here. If I can just find a few days in a row where I am sufficiently uninjured to commercialise it. Ouch. Mind that floor. It’s deceptively flat and unimpeded.*
(With apologies to Rowan Atkinson, I can never resist that line.)