So, this happened to New York Post gossip columnist Cindy Adams:
In one seven-day period I cracked a tooth in half, got bitten by something, fell off a runaway treadmill, dealt with a pest and my dog started limping … I hit an almond and broke a molar in half … I have so far been to a dentist, three visits to a periodontist, a root-canal endodontist, then again the dentist for an impression and in three weeks back for a replacement tooth … From nowhere, nothing, no reason, my right foot suddenly sprouted a red bump. It’s a bite, they said. From what? My housekeeper? A friend who accompanied me to a screening and, when the credits came on, put my foot in his mouth? A bite from what? I don’t live in the Congo. Rabid apes don’t swing from Park Avenue chandeliers.
They told me to bandage it. I bandaged it. They told me to schmear cream on it. I schmeared. They told me to ice it. I iced it. It’s still there. So far all I’ve come away with is that handwritten prescriptions cannot be read, but doctors’ bills are always neatly typed … The treadmill. Understand, this all happened to me in one week … I never did a treadmill before. They said: “Press the ‘increase’ button one tick at a time so speed increases slowly.” I had an appointment. I was in a hurry. My finger lingered on the “increase” button. It shot up to “9” from “2” and threw me. I have bruises, cuts, scrapes, scars, sores. Tutankhamun’s remains have less bandages. I’ve discovered life isn’t whether you win or lose. It’s whether or not you can deduct your wounds.
Remember, the New York Post is the paper that fired Liz Smith for being too crotchety and out-of-touch. Cindy, we love you! Get better and write something about Kim Kardashian, quick!
