So, I’m feeling a tad sorry for myself because I’ve broken a rib. For the ludicrous reason that I coughed too hard, presumably rather in the same manner that one hears of people breaking a disc reaching round for a cup of coffee.
A broken rib would make a lousy birthday present: because it can’t be plastered up the usual way, every breath and every movement pokes it like poking an angry scorpion while it’s living in your hair. It’s pretty much equivalent to breaking a toe and then playing basket ball on tarmac. Anyway, as I say, I’m feeling sorry for myself, and on painkillers, hence the metaphorical whimsy.