Due to the copious amounts of topical steroids i use on my skin to treat an occasionally gnarly case of psoriasis, i bruise easily.  Very easily.  To the point that i have become accustomed to seeing a good deal of purple and blue in the mirror as i go about getting dressed.

Changing into my cycling gear last Sunday, Captain Bligh* commented on a large purplish-black baseball-sized bloodblot blooming on the back of my left arm.

Captain Bligh:  Where did you get that?

daisyfae [checking reflection in mirror]:  Huh.  How ’bout that?  i have absolutely no idea.

My shins and legs are in a nearly constant state of battery, but my upper body is usually spared.

Captain Bligh:  Pretty sure I didn’t do it.

daisyfae:  No.  But it could be some other sort of “USI” – “Unidentified Sexual Injury”.

Or, in fact, it could have been a “UDI” – “Unidentified Drinking Injury”.  Or some combination of the two.  But i’m sort of used to it… and don’t give it much thought.

daisyfae:  You know, if i ever die of suspicious circumstances?  You and my other gents are in deep shit.  The ol’ “CSI’s” will be on your doorstep in a heartbeat!

i’ve suggested that they should all wear red carnations to my funeral.  So they can identify each other, throw back a few beers and talk shit about me after i’m gone.

But maybe they should pool resources and hire a really good attorney…

* The gentleman formerly known as “Mr. X” has self-selected his own callsign.  After our tandem cycling ride, where he kicked my ass from the front of the bike, he thought it a suitable name.  Seeing as he both inspires and shames me into working out more, i’d have to agree…