Slightly Wicked Grouch of the West

Well...it happened. I've been inducted into the Wicked Grouch Hall of Fame. (I'd say witch but I'm not one.) Someone dropped a house on me. I have the red and white striped socks and the black and blue and red and yellow bruises to prove my new status. And by the way, where the heck did my sparkly red shoes go, Dorothy?

This is how it happened:
I'd had the flu. I was feeling like the inside of a salted slug--bad enough to keep me in bed past eight. So I was snoozing away when the dang phone rang. I don't believe in cell phones (myth) so it's the wall phone in the living room for me. It yelled at me insistently until I dragged my sorry carcass up out of my uncomfortable sick bed and lumbered in to answer it. 

On the way, I tripped over C's shoes lying in the hallway. Then the slow motion aerial ballet of errors began. I flew through the air, hitting the game cupboard with my collar bone and left arm, while my right arm and leg hit the bookcase. I was sitting in the living room pumping blood from my collar bone and the stupid phone was still going with the strident ringing.

I finally crawled over and answered the sucker. I should have let the machine pick up. It was a stinking investment firm calling. 

Now I'm not a hater of all things investment-wise. It's just that these people always call for my husband, who actually works for a living outside the home. I work here, where the stinking phone rings. But they won't talk to me. They just hang up. So I've had it with rude investment beggars. 

That being the case, I yelled to the person to "STAY ON THE DANG PHONE!" I needed to get something to mop up my collarbone. Then I told them I nearly killed myself getting to the phone and might have broken my collarbone, so please would they stay on long enough to actually talk to me. Then the freak hung up.

You might think I was then incensed. Well okay, I was. The blasted guy just caused me a whole boat-load of bruises, which are starting to itch. (Not that I'm a stranger to bruises with the hobby I've had.) 

What he really did was give me ammo for the next phone call of this sort. Thank you, Rude Investment Bloke. I now have a way to avoid ever talking to your sort again. It's open season on phone solicitors...:o) I'm just waiting here, honing my plans into razor-sharp clarity, guaranteed to cause hours of rabid hilarity in the Murphy household.

Meanwhile my body is technicolor everywhere and I missed going climbing at Rocks-n-Ropes because of you. Time to get the blood and maybe a chunk of bone off the game cabinet, Solicitor Man. Come on over, I've got a rag and some comet for you.