My Shoulder

I dislocated my shoulder last week, and now have to wear my arm in a sling.  This means everywhere I go, I'm called upon to explain what happened.  I bet on Friday alone I had to tell two hundred people about my arm.  Of course, a hundred fifty of them were my students, so that brings the average up a bit.  I don't blame people for asking, naturally, and I'm pleased with their concern; still, it gets tiresome.  I think when the hospital gave me the sling, they should also have given me a sign: "Dislocated Shoulder."

The worst part is, they always want to know how I dislocated it.  There are many interesting and worthwhile reasons to have a dislocated shoulder:

Ultimate Cage Fighting

Bitch-Slapping Kodiak Bear

Meteorite 

The way it really happened was this: walking up some steps.

This is my modus operandi when it comes to getting injured.  Why can't I get hurt doing something exciting?  Why is it always something ordinary?  Say, walking?  Admittedly, Ultimate Cage fighting is not something I do a lot of, but surely I have as much right to get hit by a meteorite as anyone else.  Getting hit by a meteorite makes you seem glamorous and remarkable: tripping on steps just makes you a klutz.

So now if you see me in a sling, you'll know why.  And if someone else asks you what happened to me, tell them it was a meteorite.