And even if the postman did ring. . . .

. . . .I wouldn't be able to get there in time. I've been wearing one of these little marvels since yesterday.

Since the foot hasn't been healing the way it ought, I had enriched platelet injections Wednesday morning. (That's what he called them. This is what the occasionally accurate Wikipedia has to say about it. Yes, I did too understand it. Some of it.)

I'm supposed to stay off the foot and keep it elevated for the next, oh, eleven years. Or maybe that was three days. It seems longer when you actually have to do it than it did in theory. And don't even think about a three-beat pas de basque or a strathspey travelling step. I wonder how far that is in the future? I suppose I should've asked. Well, just because I can't do it, here are some people who can. This is a demonstration group at somebody's Burns Supper dancing "Best Set in the Hall" to a musical arrangement that took some getting used to (I could still do without the slightly annoying quasi-disco drummer and the - what would you call it? - Arabian oboe?) In any event, the dance is tremendous fun; the crossings to the corner in back of you are untraditional(!) and counter-intuitive and exciting for that reason.




On the plus side, I do get waited on when herself is around. Otherwise it has put a crimp in the interminable cups of tea that are the essential accompaniment to reading Gilbert (or Chronicles, The Remnant, P.G. Wodehouse, or fiddling around with the PC and its brand new replacement hard drive.)