Nothing says "I'm Mr. Right" after a romantic Valentine's Day dinner at a fantastic Middle Eastern restaurant like rolling your ankle, falling off a curb into traffic, and proceeding to lay in one of the dreaded New York City mystery puddles reeling delirious with pain in lieu of hailing a cab for you and your date.
The only pain that induces the vivid, nostalgic memories of those beautiful summer nights of 1997 spent trying all night to successfully ollie down a set of 5 steps for the first time. Ending in the loss of about a pint of blood and ankles the size of grapefruits.
You gotta love that "pop" your ankle makes to tell you definitively that your night is over.
* a huge Thank You to my date who was really awesome and took care of me the rest of the night.** and the irony of the fact that it happened on the ankle i have a "heart" tattoo is not wasted on me. the swollen bruise sorta looks like a heart too.
