I dislocated my right elbow last week (casseroles are still being accepted) and have a new appreciation for life with two working arms and ten functioning digits. As a writer, I was worried that my livelihood would be compromised and that typing with one hand would be impossible, but I adjusted fairly quickly (deadlines help – so do painkillers) and now only the shift key remains a tad tricky.
On the home front, my husband is a saint and has picked up the considerable household slack – which includes carrying laundry baskets, emptying garbage cans and slicing bagels for breakfast. But on more personal level, there are things that you just can’t ask someone else (especially a guy) to do for you.
Things like: Putting on mascara. This morning, I practically blinded myself with the mascara wand. Vanity thy name is Carol. Thank goodness Mabelline tests their products on rabbits.
Also challenging to insurmountable: Cutting my fingernails, combing my hair, putting my hair in a ponytail, buttoning my jeans, zipping my fly, hooking my bra and shaving my underarms. So if you see a wild-haired, unzipped, braless, furry-pitted, one-armed woman looking for sympathy and a tuna noodle casserole, it’s me.