Two months ago, I tore up my elbow. One month ago, I gave up and saw my doctor about it.
"How did you injure it?" he said, nose in his notes.
"I was unloading a 300 pound grill from the back of a truck."
He glared at me, then went back to his notes. "Diagnosis: stupidity. Acute."
"Oh no," I said. "That's chronic."
That night, I tore my Achilles tendon. I imagined going back to the doctor and explaining that I was dancing with my dog Fredo when I felt a horrible pop in my heel.
"Diagnosis: whiteness. Acute."
And I would again correct him.