People,

Have you ever felt like god was punishing you just for being happy? If you grew up in a Christian and/or Irish and/or Red Sox following household then the answer is probably yes. We just can't can't leave well enough alone, there always needs to be some guilt and a healthy fear of impending doom.

Usually, all this worry is for naught, simply causing anxiety about things that will never happen. But in the instance of my and Ladybetrothed Sarah's recent engagement, I think god is pissed that I'm taking her off the market and has decided to make things tough.

As you know, barely two weeks into our happiness over our impending nuptuals LS hurt her foot. Badly. By doing absolutely NOTHING. Seriously, we went out one day and she was fine, the next day she couldn't walk. There was not trauma, injury, anything.

Anyway, since then it hasn't gotten any better and it's been over three weeks. LS has ripped up her armpits with crutches, injured her other knee and foot by overcompensating for the bum foot and driven herself crazy by watching hours of Seventh Heaven reruns.

She was out of work for two and a half weeks before we finally had enough and rented a wheelchair from "Crappy Johnson's terrible wheelchair rentals and bait shack." I mean, this thing sucks. The wheels rattle like an old grocery cart, the push-rails are plastic and cut your fingers and the handles are so low it would take an osteoporitic nonegarian to feel comfortable behind this thing. The whole thing stone cold sucks.

I mean, on the positive side, we've gotten LS off the couch and back into the world, plus we get to spend time in the morning and afternoons that we never had before. On the negative side, people on the T are shockingly rude to people in wheelchairs, LS feels guilty for feeling like an invalid and worst of all, the stink of piss in all the T elevators is enough to literally make you want to vomit.

Poo.