If pictures of swollen, vein-y, hairy ankles are not really your thing, I suggest backing out of this post ASAP.
Consider yourself warned.
It was bound to happen sooner or later. Our first mini-shindig at the house – fire going and beer flowing – and Dave took a tumble off the slackline, twisting his ankle in the process. He may or may not have had a few 46’er Pale Ales by that point. He hobbled around a bit, pretending it wasn’t all that bad. But the first thing out of his mouth after our guests left was, “So, um, I think I broke my ankle.”
Since I’m really sensitive and caring, I said, “Well, there goes our quest for the 46 this summer.” I’m an awesome life partner.
And because I take pictures of everything, here’s a beautiful rendering of Dave’s swollen ankle.
And because I always appreciate too much information, here’s a picture of his non-swollen ankle for comparison.
And because I can’t bring myself to post a picture of a swollen, vein-y, hairy ankle as a thumbnail for this post, here’s a picture of Willa Jean in her new PFD (puppy flotation device).
We’ll see what the x-rays reveal this afternoon.