It's Called Kate Luck

So in the 1 week before the wedding I have managed to be diagnosed with a severe ankle injury from multiple third degree sprains that have torn all of my posterior talofibulars (who has 2 thumbs, speaks limited French and will be in a cast all summer next year... this moi), experienced a Nair accident and dropped a 25lb box of thermal tickets on my ring finger hand. Now don't think for one second that this is going to be a serious post because despite this crap that has happened there is a definitive reason for it so acceptance comes naturally. It's called Kate Luck. Kate Luck is ironic and the pure jet fuel situation comedy that couldn't possibly write itself. Some people were born to be doctors, some people were born to be nuns. I was born to have the weirdest shit happen to me and then tell the world about it. Please open your hymnals to Kate as a 5 year old.

My parents were high school teachers and with that they often found it convenient to hire their students to be babysitters. One night I'm chilaxin' at the sitter's house and her brother was in the process of moving out. Apparently, you will start seeing the stars align, he was a deer hunter and had been showing his equipment (heh) to someone earlier in the evening. I, having the balance of a drunk epileptic with an inner ear problem, ambled down the hall and fell onto an arrow. Now on this fateful day, that being if you were alive, it was the scream heard across the land. Prairie dogs stood on hind legs, dogs howled in three-part harmony, Mariah Carey said, "Who dat singing my notes?!". I was told that an ambulance wasn't necessary as my screams cleared the lanes to the doc-in-a-box that I was taken to. Kate Luck: I've been shot in the thigh by a dear arrow.

I used to love chocolate milk. It was just a carton of awesomesauce when I was a kid. I, being the rotund child I was, took a cup of it everywhere. Not like a sipper bottle, not a sports bottle with a screw on lid. A cup. I was walking over to my friend Amanda's house one day with my cup of chocolate milk and cutting through the backyard of a neighbor. I encountered a fence. The full bright scholar that I am, I decided that the best way to handle this was to hold the large cup of choco with my teeth and climb on over. Please refer to my level of balance and grace from the previous paragraph in-which maintaining balance on a flat surface is even hard for me. I held that cup with all my might and swung my leg over. In the next amazingly awesome moment I made a decision that would change my life. I lost footing on the fence and in the split second of panic my mind rationalized all the outcomes and chose to attempt to save the chocolate milk. As my body slammed, straddled on the fence and that feeling of panic/all you can do is constantly inhale much like the times you sat on your bike's banana seat wrong, I winced in pain and my mind wept as my chocolate milk spilled to the ground. Kate Luck: I lost my virginity to a fence.

Cut to: Present Day. So out of the trifecta of awesome injuries/acts of vain ridiculousness that I have experienced this week let me give you a brief run down.

The Ankle: I have sprained my right ankle 5 times. Here are a few of them...
1. Playing softball in 9th grade (no lesbian jokes please, they form themselves). Running to 3rd base I rolled my ankle. My teammates screamed to run and I crawled to the base. The 3rd baseman had tagged the bag, gone to get a drink of water and written/stared/directed a short filmed called "Tubbo Steals Third" before I got to the base.

2. At college. I was unpacking into my junior year townhouse and taking way too many boxes down to the dumpster. I am a firm believer of less trips (no matter how excruciatingly painful or breaking all laws of physics) is better. I missed the last 2 steps and rolled said right ankle.

3. I can be a sloppy drunk sometimes. That ankle was on the mend and almost back to normal. One night I was partying out in the trailers (George Mason University- one of the best schools of law/not that that was my major - has a housing option that is an on-site trailer park. Setting the bar a little low kids.) We had run out of booze so I was walking through the woods to someone's house to go get more and in what was either a Fouetté rond de jambe or Kate was being her well-balanced/box of wine night self rolled the ankle. Dogs howled, Kate howled and a barrage of creative curse words were spewed that would have made a sailor blush.

4. Working at Jacob's Pillow Dance Festival. I had come in on my day off to hang out with dancers and interns. I stepped down an uneven step and rolled my ankle. Hey they all can't be witty.

Ticket Thermals. This, my non-box office friends, is the term for those long tickets you get for events. (The more you know! *shooting star*) I was trying to organize my office and instead of, you know, doing the smart thing like asking for help or following any laws of office safety protocol, I lifted said box. I would like to again point out my stellar record of grace. The box began to slip and I swear that it performed an epic 90 degree turn in projection so that this mammoth box then sandwiched my hand between itself and the sharp edge of my ticketing printer. It was like watching Final Destination 1 and 2- I didn't care for 3. Now don't panic. It's only swollen, my ring finger is fine and I can still successfully flip off those people who stop immediately after they get to the top of the stairs from the subway.

Nair. A blessing and a curse. I come from a very European stock that provides me with dark, thick hair... in places other than the top of your head. Shut up, don't be that nasty person (although in any other circumstance I would probably giggle with you and slap the highest of fives), I'm talking about facial hair. Those of you who are in their late 20s/early 30s will immediately know of which I speak of. It's like God said at a certain age, "You've had enough time to find a mate. I'm upping the stakes. You will grow ridiculously dark, coarse hair in awkward places and I will turn everything flabby. This is my Hunger Games and we should totally have a datesy for the opening night of that movie!" So I was taking care of a patch of awesomeness and I put some Nair a little too high. This resulted in removal of hair so close to my hair line I look like the 13 year old that was going to shave her hair, but then chickened out. It also is whiter than Michael Jackson after a bleaching (too soon?) Again, don't panic. How do you solve a problem like Maria.. Kate? Self-tanner in a very concentrated area. Let us pray.