Richard and I escaped last weekend to Ybor City, Florida, which is known as “Tampa’s Latin Quarter.” We ate dinner at a Turkish restaurant. The food wasn’t that impressive but the belly dancer was entertaining. The waiter told us the town would get more interesting as the evening went on. In his words, “The drunker they all get, the better it gets!” After dinner, we walked up and down the strip and he was right!
- Many revelers in all states of dress and drunkenness
- A woman crying, with a man begging her forgiveness
- A man carrying a large religious sign (“Repent of Your Wicked Heart of Unbelief”)
- Other men handing out pamphlets (we now have a handy checklist in case we miss the rapture)
- Tons of police officers (we never felt we were in any danger)
- Lots of tattoos, piercings, black leather and chains
- Another couple arguing
- And a few things I can’t post here because of the family nature of WritersWeekly
It was a hoot! We later went to a local club and that was fun, too. Our hotel was only two blocks away so we didn’t have to fight the traffic.
The next day, we ate brunch at a resort in St. Pete Beach and we then did something adventurous that I can’t tell you about until next week…and I can’t explain why until next week, either. It’ll all make sense at that time. What I can tell you is that I fell after we did it, and hurt my knee (but I was far more concerned about how many people witnessed my terribly ungraceful tumble). About an hour later, I felt a twinge in my knee. By the time we got home, I was limping and, by bedtime, I was grimacing and saying unladylike words. I was up most of the night.
The next day, Richard wanted to take me to Urgent Care but I didn’t want them poking and prodding that tender spot. After another day of pain, and another sleepless night, Richard dragged me in for xrays. It’s not broken. They think it’s just a sprain but, if it still hurts in a week, they’ll do an MRI. They gave me a brace to stabilize it, which I really need when trying to sleep. Each time I move, my eyes tear up and I get nauseated.
I refused pain pills. I hate those things. Alleve seems to be working better than Advil. Takes the edge off.
I found out today that my mom took a spill, too, on a slippery deck. I’m in much better shape, however, as she’s confined to bed. 🙁
This Week’s Masonism:
Mason had just finished reading “Dear. Mr. Henshaw” by Beverly Cleary and I wanted Max to read it next.
Max (age 12) asked, “Is it any good, Mason?”
Mason (age 7) replied, “Yeah. He loses his dog, but don’t worry. He finds him at the end.”
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