I'd gotten the smaller splint on my pinned finger, and I think maybe I'd have been fine to ride if it hadn't been for a customer's handshake.
I've been shaking hands splinted for weeks now, and right when the hands meet, I say, Gently, I'm playing hurt or some such.
This time, though, the woman in question clamped down automatically in one of those handshakes that's uncomfortable even on healthy hands and I cried uncle. One of those handshakes that has always made me internally ask, What are you trying to prove?
The pain and, I think, the swelling has been worse ever since, and when I attempted an after work ride, every bump in the road just lit the thing up. I made it about a quarter mile before turning around and going back to the car, a turnaround marked by the Budweiser Clydesdales.
Beautiful animals, ironic that such robust beasts are used to market an insipid beer.
As I watched the kids running around and the adults taking pictures (as I was), I pictured an ad agency executive asking, Yes, but how do we get the really young kids?
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