Boots/Painkillers Cannot Replace Boyfriends

I fractured my foot the day before yesterday and have been basically incapacitated since yesterday. It made me want a boyfriend more than I've ever wanted one before. And I don't even have any men on file I could call and ask to act as a boyfriend everyone I've been dating sucks so much. I feel like a sad, pathetic Miranda from Sex and the City or something.

I woke up yesterday morning intending to go to the Jewcer. I could barely put any weight on my foot it was so painful, so I emailed in broken foot. I found a podiatrist a block away from me and made an appointment. I hobbled down my sixth-floor walk-up and then spent the next 7 minutes gimping down the block while all the lame tourists dining al fresco (I live in Little Italy; during the warmer months we're constantly overrun with Midwestern tourists who really shouldn't be eating anymore pasta) looked at me like I was some kind of freak. Or perhaps they were checking out my Jewcy Double Dutch tee. Get one for yourself here soon.

So the podiatrist brought me to tears by injecting my foot with some medicine. The grandmotherly receptionist came in and held my hand and covered me with her sweater because she thought I was cold. So sweet, both of them were. The podiatrist wrapped my foot up, now bulging with the injection, put a boot on me, gave me some painkillers, and sent me to Chinatown for an X-Ray. That meant I had to walk another four blocks. Another 22-minute hobble.

After the X-Ray it was back to podiatrist for confirmation of fracture. Then four more blocks over to the Eckerds pharmacy. While there I decided to get some cat litter because my cat seriously needed it. I figured if I made it this far I could manage home with a mere 10-pound bag. On my way out of the store the pharmacist called me and told me they didn't carry the painkillers I needed. So I had to walk to the back of the store with my cat litter and Diet Snapple, each step practically searing with pain, fetch my prescription and then hobble my gimp ass four more blocks home and all the way up my stairs.

It all sucked. I had no one to help me all day since all my friends were at work. NYC is the worst place to have a broken foot in. I can't even leave my apartment to pick up some Diet Coke since I have to go up and down six flights of stairs. All I have is my walking boot and some painkillers. And my walking boot won't give me piggy back rides or fetch things for me.

When I finally made it into my apartment I realized what I needed more than anything was a boyfriend--someone who's obligated to take care of me, carry me around, and fetch me things. I feel like a pathetic, cynical singleton. The only good thing about New York in this situation is you can get pretty much everything delivered. I think I'll order some red wine for later to help my painkillers along a little bit.