The Time I Thought I Had Blood Clots From Skinny Jeans
I am a klutz. I am convinced it has something to do with my tall stature and the fact that it seems everything around me has been made for midgets. Doorways always promise bumps on my head, and tables always induce massive bruises to appear on my knees. And my cards? They usually come about from some ridiculous scenario within my own life. This new klutz card most certainly has a story behind it-- one that is almost too embarrassing to tell, but I suppose I will anyway.
A few weekends ago, we went to our favorite local bar to watch football. Later that evening after the game had ended, I was relaxing in my reading chair with crossed legs. As I sat, I felt some rather tender spots on my legs. After changing into shorts and doing a further inspection, I noticed two large bruises on the outer sides of each of my calves near my knees. The bruises were so large that they had actually caused bumps to form. I panicked and grasped at any sort of explanation as these were insanely serious bruises.
I had been wearing my tightest pair of skinny jeans that day, and depending on how I sat, they sometimes pinched a little around the knees. I was convinced that the skinny jeans were so tight that they had caused the bruises. As I explained my predicament to Andrew, he began laughing at me.
Later that night, as I climbed into bed, I continued to lament about my horrible bruises and how the skinny jeans just must have been too skinny. Andrew, being rather sleepy and tired, had no time for my silly ideas, and prompted me to Google the probability of what I believed had occurred. To my horror, my Google results linked me to a health website that suggested I had blood clots due to jeans that were entirely too tight. Obviously, this had to be true-- Google searches never lie, especially if they have anything to do with your health.
The next morning, the bruises were just as bad, so I vowed not to wear skinny jeans or cross my legs until the bruises went down. By Thursday, I had completely forgotten about the scenario, until that evening. We made our way back to our favorite bar for the Steelers game that night, and I perched myself upon one of their brand new bar stools. I was just about to comment on how much I liked the changes they had made to their tables and stools in the seating area when I felt two sore spots on my outer calves. I looked down and noticed that as I sat with my feet on the rung of the stool, the tapered legs of the stool were rubbing against my calves.
"You won't believe this," I whispered to Andrew, on the verge of hysterics. "Won't believe what?" he responded. "The bar stool! It's the bar stool! The damn bar stool is what bruised my legs!" And then, we crumpled into a pile of laughter over our bar table.