It was one of life's cruel little ironies. My day would be busier than usual, but I was determined to fit an hour at the gym into it. I planned the day down to the minute. Then I made the fifteen minute trip to my gym.
Truth really is stranger than fiction; I missed the curb and twisted my ankle on my way in. I turned around and went home. I limped into my house, scowling at the irony of my careful planning, wishing I could have twisted my ankle on the way out instead.
Life must go on. I took four advil and went out to parade my balloon of an ankle and my limping self in front of a million people. That wasn't the distressing thing though. The distressing thing is realizing that I've become a casualty of the shidduch crisis.
Yeah, I'm drugged up on advil just to get out of my house, and only one thought is going through my head as these yentish ladies watch me in a pseudo-sympathetic manner:
Limping is bad for shidduchim.