how’s this for irony?

So… It is quite possible that I have broken my ankle.

But let’s start a little earlier. During my first year at Chicago, I walked to class regularly with my SGBF (straight gay best friend). In the fall, this was always a lovely time for a chat or a rant about life, classes, and the like. Then winter hit, my Texan bones froze, and I wondered how anyone could enjoy being cold for five months out of the year. While I love snow and all, I don’t particularly like slogging through a mile of it to get to school (I lived in an off campus dorm first year). I like picking my way over and around patches of (oft times invisible) ice even less. SGBF, being a Chicago native, laughed at my intolerance to cold. A lot. Almost everyday. But I remember one day in particular.

We were strolling (okay, I was trudging) towards campus, and SGBF started teasing me about how I was most definitely going to fall on my ass during the course of my first real winter and he was going to laugh uproariously at me. Then he promptly slipped and fell ass-first into a huge puddle. And then I proceeded to laugh at him about that incident for the rest of college.

The point of all this being, don’t jinx yourself because the universe has a dark sense of humor.

Fast forward four years. I’ve now lived in Chicago for a while, and I’ve managed to not fall at all during all of these slippery winters. I went to school, I graduated, and now I’m moving on. For the past week or so, the Boy and I have been slowly packing up the condo so that we can progress to the next stages of our lives. Then, on Saturday, while the Boy and the Boy’s Mother and I were walking back towards the condo, I mentioned (in the course of conversation, not randomly) that I had never broken any of my bones before. Cue the ominous music here.

And then, Sunday morning (essentially our last day in Chicago), on our way to get our last Istria coffee before we headed to our respective homes in Texas and Iowa, I have a spectacularly amazing fall (5.6 for dismount according to tB’sM). My right ankle and knee twist one way and my body falls the other. And then I immediately start crying because I was in shock (and because I am a huge pansy). My ankle swells up grotesquely and immediately, and I can’t walk on it at all. But, I figure, that’s okay. I’ll get to be wheeled around in a wheelchair at the airport. And it’s probably just a bad sprain in any event.

Today I went in to the hospital to get x-rays taken, and it turns out that I’ve probably broken the damn thing.

How’s that for ironic?

blueberries and cream

My extremely lax posting schedule has sort of rendered this particular post out of context. The making of the scones actually occurred… something like a month ago? But I was reminded of these awesome blueberry scones today, since the Boy and I went to Istria and split one of their scones.

My inspiration for the scones actually came about because of Istria in the first place. For a few successive weeks, each time I got some scone variation, I was sorely disappointed. They were dry, had the texture of muffins (if I wanted a muffin, I would have ordered a muffin), or had some other nit-picky little problem (I’ve been reading too much food criticism as of late). In any event, tired of all the sub-par scones from my favorite coffee place, I decided to make my own.