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…
