Okay, so it's 11 PM. Blow me.
I find myself online and writing this because, at present, the whole damn house is fll of gimps.
I think my puppy is the only completely healthy creature here.
I, of course, am still on crutches.
My sainted father is now ALSO on crutches, and hooked up to the cryo-cuff I got with my surgery. And taking my pain meds. I'd be angrier about the loss of premium lortabs for later sale if he hadn't paid for them in the first place.
My mother just got over injuring her wrist and is now arguably the most able-bodied human in the house... but I still need to open jars for her.
Between three people, we have four good arms and four good legs.
Pretty damned pitiful.
The final float in the Gimp Parade is our old Labrador, Carmen, who is now reaching that creaky arthritic stage that all old dogs seem to achieve overnight.
Which leaves my puppy, once again, as the healthiest specimen we have. I'd cry if it wasn't so damned funny.
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