The Butcher's Bill for the trip

has been tallied by an independent[1] observer.

20 bruises, no flail chest (though much flailing), no missing limbs, no injuries too horrible to name, unless we count the sinus trouble, which actually is mostly just unpleasing to contemplate in detail, not to name.

Bonus: A strained knee, now almost completely resolved, from forgetting for a second that I had a 50 pound pack on and turning w/o turning my feet.

fairestcat shall have a prize, TBD.


[1] I can vouch for the independence. "Terry, would you like me to carry some of that? I only ask because it outweighs you..." "I WILL DO IT MYSELF!" "Yes, my love..."

I feel I ought to clarify...

I bruise extremely easily. Redhead, you know? This is how I got the Self Battering Spouse nickname; I am usually bruised.

They are all shallow and showy and with one exception don't hurt even when pressed on.

I actually am feeling pretty good, a bit tired, but not in any remotely noteable pain. If I can get my sinuses to stop whooping and snorting we might even be upgrading this to "I feel swell".

Swear to God, I should have fallen for someone in the goddamned INFANTRY or something.

*slightly paraphrased excerpt from a completely non-serious conversation*

pecunium: "You could lie to me!"

commodorified: *eyeroll* "Sure I could. Then you'd know EXACTLY what I was up to AND I'd be in shit for lying to you."

pecunium: *bemused stare*

commodorified: "Really, I gave up on THAT shit FOREVER ago."

pecunium: "REALLY?"

commodorified: *rolls eyes times infinity*.