Right about now, I should be strolling along the beach in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands. Or perhaps reading a book poolside, or maybe walking through the historic area and learning about the Danish culture from the 1800's.
My flight out was at 6:00 in the morning Tuesday, but the plane left without me. Why? Because a funny thing happened on my way downstairs Monday evening.
My mother always used to tell me not to wear flip flops in the house. They are dangerous, she'd tell me. I never understood why until Monday night when I was racing down the stairs, excited to be picking up my friend who'd I'd be happily spending the next week with, when my foot slipped from my flip flop at the landing and my ankle went hard to the right off the stair and my body followed. Before I could feel it, I heard the bone break. That? That's not a pleasant sound.