It’s Wednesday, which is without a doubt my least favorite day of the work week. This makes a second day this week that I’m working a late shift, since the yesterday’s scheduled closer came down with a stomach bug and I was pressed to working an extra few hours. For what it’s worth, I tried really hard to get out of it. Could the tech switch and take my regular closing shift? What was the earliest I could get out so that I didn’t need to get an Uber? In the end, I got an extra two hours in my paycheck, and my boss paid for the Uber. However, I still need to work late tonight, but I’m hoping that work will be slow and I can leave early.
It was nice to have three days off. I made a nice long post, and between that and my long workout, I was in a mentally good place by the time he was leaving work. Then he limps through the door, greets me and the cats, and says “I don’t want you to worry, but I sort of got hurt today…” My mind jumps to the worst case scenarios, naturally. How bad? Is this going to result in a trip to the urgent care? Is it a more expensive trip to the ER? What about work?
In the end, he wrenched his ankle at work. Nothing broken, just a lot of swelling and a couple of scrapes. I made a trip to buy something to wrap his foot before dinner, while he iced it with the ice pack from his lunchbox. Instead of the normal post-dinner shower, I took a hot bubble bath with a generous helping of Epson salts and forced him to sit on a step stool and soak his foot while I soaked in the bubbles. He made it through work without much trouble yesterday. Now, a couple of days later, the swelling is finally going down. It’s still stiff, and he says he won’t go in for his Saturday shift if things aren’t improved by tomorrow night.
For now, I’m going to go make myself lunch for the day and get dressed. The Fuzzy Pink Robe of Unsexiness +2 is not within my company’s dress code.
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