Rain + darkness + curb = broken radius for P.
Radius: a straight line extending from the center
of a circle or sphere to the circumference or surface.
Wait. That's not right.
He did not break his straight line
extending from the center of his circumference.
Nor did he break or in any way injure
the throw of an eccentric wheel or cam.
He did however, fracture a long, prismatic,
slightly curved bone, the shorter and thicker
of the two forearm bones, located laterally to the ulna.
And Friday, he succumbs to the the knife. Yikes.
And while we're on the subject of skeletal parts,
I made myself (in a rush, this morning) a chicken
sandwich from a bag of meat that I'd stripped from
a roasted chicken last week. The meat was frozen,
and I wasn't paying much attention to the task.
At lunchtime, when I bit into the sandwich,
my teeth were met with a particularly hard piece
of chicken. My first thought was:
why is this piece still frozen and the others are thawed?
But, alas, no. Upon further investigation,
I discovered this wedged in between the bread slices:
Oops! I felt like the carnivore that I am. Primal,
unwittingly gnawing on fowl cartilage.
I had made myself a Bone Sandwich.
Empathy for my husband, perhaps?
Or was it the dithery brain of a middle-aged woman
that's responsible for this absurdity?
I won't say. The bone, appropriately,
went into the food waste bin.
When I checked my e'mail upon returning home,
I discovered that M. had scavenged the bone
from the waste bin, photographed it, and sent it to me.
Enough with the meat.
(Although that's what we are, when you get
right down to it -- meat -- dripping and raw.)
I offered P. this chicken bone as a replacement
for his compromised radius, but he declined.