While running today, I encountered sidewalk hoggers. Y’know - the people who fail to rearrange into single-file form, despite that someone is approaching from the opposite direction. I was running fast, by my standards, and in my attempt to transition from sidewalk to pavement, I bit the curb. Hardly missing a beat, and certainly not giving a thought about my pride - I hopped back up and continued on. Only a mile later, where I started running past people again, did I feel self-conscious. Everyone I passed stole glances at my knee. I looked at the small dab of blood on my lower palm, and concluded my knee couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it? When I finally slowed my pace to walk into my apartment building, I realized I had an entirely blood-soaked knee and shin.
Somehow, the “bruised knee” line from this song popped into my head as I cleaned my wound. Clearly, I bruised my knee in a much less exciting way than the girl writing this tune.
