It appears that, while wandering home at whateveroclock this morning, wildly swinging my bag of fried chicken (it was in a box, not just a bag of chicken, I’m not a savage) and singing the common hymn of “I hate my life [repeat ad nauseam]”, I managed to injure my left calf.
I have no idea how this has happened, but it hurts a fair bit so I’ve had to come up with a few theories as to just what exactly happened.
Would normally be a fair theory, as everybody knows it’s fun and funny to run when you’re drunk. Well, I know of at least a handful of people who share this view. However, it is unlikely as I would have been cautious with not wanting to shake up my can of Pepsi too much.
If this were the Ian of a few years ago, living in the rough streets of the north and taking on all the wildlings as they come oh god I’ve watched too much Game Of Thrones today, this might have held some credibility. But I live in the soft south, in what I can only describe as ‘the least threatening area of the world I have ever set foot in’. Ninjas are therefore unlikely.
Saving orphans from bear assault
Two reasons this can’t be true: one, bears don’t exist on the coast. Everyone knows that. Two, I don’t make mistakes against bears, so one would never have been able to swipe at my calf and hurt it. Simple as, really.
Leapt over a car that tried to run me over, colliding slightly with my trailing leg
There’s every chance this might have happened. I am known for my manic dexterity and nimbleness that rivals all but the most nimble of cats. Though on checking the local news I’ve found no story of a car being destroyed after coming into contact with a muscular, beautiful calf. So probably not that.
I was walking like a drunken idiot and overstretched my leg on a step at some point, not noticing thanks to my inebriated state and so exacerbating the problem somewhat by not being careful with the walking that followed
That’s far too ridiculous a theory. It could never be anything like that. Nah. No chance.