NOT a knee-fail!

The dog bowl of DEATH
 (except pleasantly not). 

Today I looked in the fridge for something to eat for dinner, and was disappointed by the lack of beetroot. There was a container with some beetroot juice in it, but the container distinctly lacked the slices of crimson coloured heaven. I had been craving a salad wrap, but decided that without beetroot it just wasn’t going to satisfy the deep desire I had... So instead I settled on noodles, a meal with very little nutrition, but that gives instant satisfaction. The noodles were stored up high. I reached up to get them, then took a step backwards, stepping into a dog bowl. My leg slid a good half meter along the ground putting my knee in an awful position. Don’t feel bad for me yet though, because despite being in a position that before the surgery my knee would have definitely given way and hurt for the day, I felt no pain at all! I stepped out of the dog bowl and cooked noodles like a happy knee-fixed chap. What a good moment for my confidence!

On a side note, today on the train I was sitting behind a man. He had blonde slightly curly hair, and was wearing reflective safety “worker man” type clothing. He was fit looking, muscular and neatly groomed, with an even layer of stubble that you could tell was on purpose. The seat next to him was vacant, so he had stretched out a bit, and he had his work boots up slightly on the chair in front of him with an attitude of “I’m a man and I’ll do whatever I want”. Part of what I love about the train is just watching people, so I sat there in the seat behind him (like a total creep, possibly even grinning) and watched him flip through his...woman’s fitness magazine!

The train beeped to signal arrival at the next station. An old stern looking business man took the seat next to my dear friend, and his eyes instantly flickered to the “tips on how to correctly do a squat” article open next to him. I have never seen somebody discreetly shut a magazine and stuff it in a bag so fast, while developing some rosy red cheeks. To complete it all, once the woman’s magazine was stored neatly away, he rummaged back through his bag and pulled out a men’s muscle building magazine, did a slight awkward cough, and flicked through the pages of bulging muscle.