Thursday, April 7, 2011.
One Month. Two Boots.
It's a month since my ankle-breaking accident at that fateful Lundi Gras party. I haven't had a drink since. Not even a glass of wine, although as I come to the end of the medications the doctors placed me on, my first glass of vino is not far away. I remain concerned about my body's reaction to cocktails, however. I may be done with martinis for life. But it was 2003 before I started drinking them with any frequency, so I don't think I will miss them. I haven't so far, anyway.
My day begins with strapping on the moon boot. It's incomparably more comfortable than the heavy splint was. But what a job getting it on! It has five straps and two sets of overlapping panels, all nicely padded with foam. But every surface is Velcro, and it takes an octopus to keep them all apart while trying to get my foot in the right place.
I received a tempting e-mail of the kind every writer should be wary of. A reader who liked this year's April Fool restaurant review says I should write fiction. That idea is never far from my mind. Fortunately, I am grounded in reality by a five-figure check I had to write to the IRS a couple of days ago. Still. . maybe if. . .
My only meal today was the second half of that chicken parmigiana I started eating yesterday at Erik's. Leftovers, I hate. But to get anything else requires the collaboration of Mary Ann, and she spent most of the day on the South Shore today. One of her jobs: resolving a parking boot slapped on Mary Leigh's car at Tulane. And that one was not made of Velcro. Two hundred dollars to have it removed!
