CALL ME SNAKE

Last month I described my latest handball injury–a sprained thumb that has not only kept me from handball (See “Man Down! Man Down!” for further details), but has also delayed my volleyball comeback. I’ve also talked about injuries sustained while working on a (60-piece?) puzzle with my 3-year-old (now 4, but that’s another story) and, I believe, a separate injury sustained while playing a game with her, Connect Four, perhaps. Now I’ve gone and done it again in what is, quite possibly, the stupidest way one can injury him- or herself.

It’s all because of these damn moths that start plaguing us this time of year. It’s my fault, I suppose (when isn’t it?) for amassing a larger cereal box collection than Jerry Seinfeld ever dreamed of. (And with his money, he could actually put together a formidable collection, if he chose to.) In any case, last night when I was tired and not thinking straight (which pretty much applies to every waking moment, and probably every sleeping moment as well, as I have never been a good sleeper), a moth flew past me in the kitchen. I took a wild swing at it–just as I took a wild swing at Jimmie’s serve in handball, which started this whole problem–and in the process of not killing the moth, I bashed my sprained thumb on the arm of my kitchen chair. So I’m back to square one (which is, by now, getting to be a pretty familiar place), still not playing handball, still not playing volleyball, and still not getting any younger. I’d like to say I’m at least getting older and wiser, but the facts, such as they are, argue against it.