I charge nearly every purchase on my credit card mostly so that I can more accurately budget and earn reward points. My monthly statement also reads like a diary, a record of my movements through the world.
Mostly, this month there are dining excursions. A boulangerie sandwich with a friend. Sangria and a salad at a street festival. Freshly made lasagna from an Italian market for a camping trip.
Then there are charges from MKE Film and BP Gas and TJ Maxx and Antiques on Main and one that makes my wrist ache. A charge for a wrist splint from Stratton Drug reminds me of my accident this month.
As my sister-in-law and I were walking and talking on our way to the next antique store, I tripped on a deviant sidewalk and fell with all my weight onto my left wrist. A bystander reached to grab my hands to immediately stand me up but I demurred, cradling my arm.
When I finally stood, I remember looking at passersby, envious of their healthy wrists. I nearly laughed out loud at my internal whinery. Later, my sister-in-law concocted a story we could use about a bar fight in which I led with my left fist because I didn’t want to set down the beer in my right hand. And we laughed. And laughed.
Luckily, no hospital services needed to be charged on my credit card as a result of the fall. Nor the laughter.
Mostly, this month there are dining excursions. A boulangerie sandwich with a friend. Sangria and a salad at a street festival. Freshly made lasagna from an Italian market for a camping trip.
Then there are charges from MKE Film and BP Gas and TJ Maxx and Antiques on Main and one that makes my wrist ache. A charge for a wrist splint from Stratton Drug reminds me of my accident this month.
As my sister-in-law and I were walking and talking on our way to the next antique store, I tripped on a deviant sidewalk and fell with all my weight onto my left wrist. A bystander reached to grab my hands to immediately stand me up but I demurred, cradling my arm.
When I finally stood, I remember looking at passersby, envious of their healthy wrists. I nearly laughed out loud at my internal whinery. Later, my sister-in-law concocted a story we could use about a bar fight in which I led with my left fist because I didn’t want to set down the beer in my right hand. And we laughed. And laughed.
Luckily, no hospital services needed to be charged on my credit card as a result of the fall. Nor the laughter.
RSS Feed