Defeeted

I have successfully recovered from my bout with cellulitis. Not that any of you care. I can count on one hand the cards, letters, boxes of candy, flowers, cash, gift cards, etc. that I received, and I don’t have to use any fingers or even my hand. Fortunately, as I recovered from the cellulitis, I developed a case of plantar fasciitis so that I can still have something to complain about.

If you are not familiar with plantar fasciitis, it’s quite painful. But sometimes, from pain comes amazing art. However, in this case, I wrote a poem. More accurately, it is free verse, because I was too lazy to rhyme. Before you click to continue reading my new creation, I should warn you that the two people I have read this to have been at a loss for words upon hearing it, and not necessarily in a good way.

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Cellu-what’s-this?

I hate it when my wife is so dogmatic and then turns out to be so right. She didn’t take a very long look at my infected arm before rendering her diagnosis … cellulitis. And she highly suggested I listen to her and seek medical attention before I headed off on a trip to St. Louis. I always value her suggestions, especially when I feel threatened, so I trudged off to the clinic to receive a diagnosis of …

That’s right, my wife was 100% correct … again. But is cellulitis serious?

Uh-oh. Considering my case of cellulitis was spreading up my arm toward my armpit where I know my lymph nodes like to hang out (they’re kind of weird that way), I realized how in debt to my wife I was once again. A pic of my diseased arm follows for those with strong stomachs.

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