Fall Down Stupid

I got bit by the fitness bug today. Thought I'd walk down the hill for some fresh air and a pint. The weather was just right: cool and crisp, with the scent of spruce needles and wood smoke. Actually, all I smelled through my stuffed nose was my cigar, but the other stuff sounded more... appropriate. The exercise must have boosted my metabolism because I polished off half of a smoked chicken, beans, slaw, cornbread, a bowl of gumbo, chocolate silk cake, and then two more pints. The walk home was disastrous. First, I almost stroked out on a particularly foreboding incline. I used some secret ninja breathing tricks to work through the tachycardia, the stitch in my side, and the shooting pains in my chest. That's when I slipped on what must have been the very last patch of snow/ice/black-crusty-stuff in my neighborhood. Let's just say that I went down like a ton of bricks. Split my favorite pair of trousers (nice wool herringbone with real silk lining) and bruised my tailbone. Writing this post standing up (pain in coccyx), my big wish is that I had ordered the chocolate silk cake to go.