Taking the dogs for our nightly walk, we passed by one of our favorite neighbors out chatting with a girl I hadn't seen before. The guest brandished a brand new cast and crutches and was sitting on the porch leisurely sipping at a beer.
After exchanging hellos with my neighbor, I looked at her. "My goodness! What happened?"
Assuming I would hear some generic response such as "broke my foot" or "hurt my leg" as justified when someone is not familiar, I was ill prepared for her answer.
"Oh, I got in a fight."
My face went blank. Was this supposed to be a subtle warning for me not to mess with the Brawlin' Beauty or a bragger's right? I wasn't sure. Being tugged along by the dogs fortunately gave me an easy out.
The automatic response dying to come out was, "Aren't you supposed to use your hands for that?". But judging by her announcement, I didn't want this young lady to risk another dangerous encounter.
"Well, good luck with that." I replied, thankful I could walk off.
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