So, do you, darling readers, know how it feels when your beloved mom kindly takes you to the garage to pick up your car after an oil change, and even though it is a more-or-less clear day and you've been going to this same garage for a decade, you take one step, catch your incredibly cute silver sandal in a crack in the cement, and then plunge to the ground, smacking your right knee harder than it, poor joint, has ever been smacked before?
And you know how you lie there on the burning concrete hoping that the sound you hear is the TARDIS arriving to take you back in time ten minutes to when you thought you knew how to walk? Even though you know that you're not supposed to cross your own timeline or something but you can't think about that right then because your knee is sending fiery bursts of pain up and down your leg? And then, you know how it feels when you realize that noise is actually your mother gunning the engine as she drives off leaving you wounded and alone? And probably maimed for life?
Remember how that feels?
And tell me you know how it feels when your pretty-good-looking mechanic rushes over to try to get you to your feet when you really just want to roast for a while on the concrete and curse yourself for daring to walk in public, but you feel compelled to try to stand up so that he doesn't have to call the paramedics like the last time you did this (though you were bleeding that time and the bloodstains never really washed out and you still hope that's not why they moved the garage to a different location). You know this feeling, right?
And I'm sure you remember what it's like when you've been icing your knee for three days and are celebrating that you can walk again (sort of) by having a nice drink and destroying three months of junk mail, but then you find out that some junk mail is sharp and that you can burn out a paper shredder by bleeding all over it and then dropping a gin and tonic into its teeth? I mean, I can't be the only one to feel that feeling or smell that smell, right?
I mean, c'mon beautiful readers, tell me you empathize here? You've been there, right?
And since I know you know how I feel, please tell me that you too have had to explain the loss of a favorite mug and the bandages on your wrist because you dropped a ten dollar bill into your hot tea when you spilled your purse into the bathtub...this is a perfectly normal thing that everybody goes through at one time or another right?
A relatively normal thing, then?
A thing that happens? Or that you hear about happening?