TIME TO CHANNEL BETTE AGAIN

When I started this blog a few years back, I was in the midst of my first body betrayal brought to me by that oh so merciless joker, "Aging". Although Aging has thrown a few cheap shots my way between now and then, he's actually been pretty benign. I admit it, I was the model of contentment, expecting nothing more serious than the sniffles now and then. But nobody expects TSI , either.
Two weeks ago to the day, I innocently put my lunch in the toaster oven on bake (god forbid it would have been turned to "toast", the setting which switches itself off) and set the timer. Ding, ding, ding, ding and up we get, free of care and full of the expectation for the weekend black tie fund raiser for my favorite charity. I worked very hard all year for the charity and sat on the Gala committee, successfully soliciting sponsors, auction items and looked forward to spending the evening with a fun bunch at the table we sponsored. Foolish, foolish earth woman.....
The big toe of my right foot somehow got stuck in my pant leg. My eyes grew wide in surprise, I hopped twice, certain the toe would come loose. Not sure if it did, because the next thing I remember was regaining consciousness, lying unceremoniously on the floor, with my shoulder wedged up against the bar cabinet. What the???? I also heard this blood curdling scream piercing the air. Lets see now; I wasn't expecting it, I blacked out from the excruciating pain and was brought back to consciousness by my own screaming. That's three of the four. It must be The Spanish Inquisition. (Monty Python fans are the only people who will get this, everyone else, disregard)
The next hour is a piece of time that I wish to have expunged from my permanent memory. It involved a very silly crab crawl involving one arm, one foot and one ass cheek. It also involved the serious consideration of giving up and waiting 6 hours for J to return home. But alas, that pesky toaster oven was stupidly continuing to burn brightly on the other side of the wall and it was one impossible stair step away from my twisted crab crawling self. The wireless computer keyboard was closer than the phone. Five minutes, or was it twenty, later I kicked the keyboard to the chair, kicked the cordless mouse to the floor and managed to hit reply to one of J's earlier messages, typed h e l p and clicked on send. The phone started ringing about a minute later. Of course it was miles across the room. Ok, not miles, but it rang it's full complement of rings 3 times before I crab crawled over the distance, picked up a ruler from my knitting foot stool and knocked the thing to the floor. I learned later that I was screaming unintelligibly, so J had no idea what the hell was happening or had happened. Thank goodness, he didn't let his boss send a carload of agents to the house. He did, however call 911 and stayed on the phone with me as he ran to his car and got on the road for the 1 hour commute from work to home. He gently reminded me that I would have crawl to yet another side of the room, gain access to the dead bolt key and unlock the door for the emergency people who would be arriving momentarily. After uttering some very bad language, I stuck the cordless (thank goodness for cordless technology) phone in my bra and began my final crawl across the floor.
As for the rest, I'm exhausted now and need to sleep, but I'll resume later. Typing with one hand is extremely slow.