The Friday Complaint Corner

I pulled a muscle in my right leg on Wednesday. I wish I could say that I did it doing something manly like chopping firewood or running a decathalon or battling with a Yeti, but in all candor, I did it while tying my shoe. I have a snazzy pair of burgundy Nikes that, unfortunately, come equipped with needlessly lengthy laces (I'll never understand contemporary running shoe lace-length, but that's a rant for another day). As a result, it seems that I have to stoop down and tie these shoes at least three times a day. It's wicked annoying. In any case, the other morning, I was doing just that during my walk to work. On the corner of 49th and 7th Avenue (and, really, this is rivetting stuff, eh kids?), I leaned forward to tie my shoe and felt a strangely worrying sensation in my right leg. Hooray for getting old!

The next morning, my right leg was sore and remained so for the rest of the day. It's now Friday, and I'm still feeling it. According to my trusty, dog-eared copy of The Doctors Book of Home Remedies for Men (I picked this up several years ago at D'Agostino's and it's gotten me through a lot of scrapes), it should go away in a couple of days, and I should keep moving on it (this is assuming that I'm correct in diagnosing it as a pulled muscle, of course). That all said, it doesn't feel like it's improving. This is spooking me out.

Compounding the problem is the fact that Peggy's going out of town this weekend, leaving the minding of our little people solely to me. With this in mind, if you see me limping angrily around in the Washington Square Playground, you'll now know why I'll be scowling (more than usual).

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