You Can't Spell Sprain without Pain!

When we last left off here on the Epistle, yours truly was going out in search of mid-singles wards. Or that was my intention, at any rate.

This past Sunday afternoon, Gary, John, Jon, and I (we John/Jons have to stick together, you know?) agreed to carpool out to Salt Lake to visit one of these wards. When we pulled up to Gary's house, he didn't come outside when we honked - as he usually does. So, I went to the door to retrieve him, and on our way back out to John's car, yours truly slipped and tumbled while leaving the curb, and I ended up spraining my right ankle.

I've sprained an ankle, my left one, only once before, and I suppose that in the years since then I'd forgotten how painful a sprained ankle can be. John then took me back home to rest, to elevate it, and to ice it, and over the past few days I've watched it balloon into strange shapes and turn purple and all of that good stuff. If anyone wishes to bring me cookies, brownies, or the like as I recuperate, you're more than welcome to do so (wink, wink).

So, I'm 0-for-1 at this point. Perhaps I'll have better luck next week.