I went out with friends last night to celebrate their 30th birthdays. We had a blast at this quaint little Irish pub in St. Paul. They had some awesome beer on tap. Husband and I drank STELLA. I have never had it before or even knew they made a beer called Stella. We had to do it because one of my best friend's has the same name.
(Sidebar: You can just imagine all the jokes that night. "I've always wanted to taste you, Stella."
"Oh Stella, you feel so good when you hit the lips!"
"Stella ~ Is this your hair in my beer?")
Anyways, after six hours of fun with the crew, our boys, and too many Jagerbombs to count, we went out to the parking lot to chat. I decided to grab a big bag out of the back of our car and walk it over to a friend's car.
At 2am.
Drunk.
In knee-high boots with a skinny 3" heel.
Across a crappy parking lot.
My right ankle rolled and I went down harder than a whore at a sausage fest. I went down faster than a wet fart.
I knew I hurt but at that point, I was too drunk to care. Then I woke up this morning and felt like I got hit by a truck. After a visit to Urgent Care and normal xrays, I have a sprained ankle and a fucked up knee.
(That last diagnosis was all me...)
Moral of the Story?
It's all STELLA's fault.
*wink*
