Warning: I'm Naked In This One!

Well, I'm finally selling out to try and get internet famous; I'm posting nude photos.

Well, drawings.

I've been working on this post for a while, but you're going to look at the following pictures and think I not only lost my ability to walk, but to draw too.  Well, listen here, Internets, it takes an awful lot of effort to get to the scanner.  I had to scoot all the way across this queen size bed and suffer a super wedgie (front and back) to do it, so deal.  Then I was so tired after I uploaded these, that I only turned up the midtones, so they look rather awful, but it's the gist I needed to get across to you.

So, you should know by now that I can't deal with being gross.  These means I will risk certain death to get clean.  Or at least risk genuinely breaking my pelvis to do so.  The other day The Boyfriend was sleeping as is usual because he works at night and I was feeling particularly grimy.  Me experience showering has been, since I've been broken, lackluster.  The Boyfriend helps me in, I sit in a plastic lawn chair and scrub, shave the parts of my legs I can reach (if I'm not exhausted at that point) and then he helps me back out much to my hip's dismay at being moved in such a weird way.  After two weeks of waiting for him to get up before getting my uber-Italian oil off, I thought "Hey, I should be handicapable enough to do this on my own now!"  The short story is: I am.  The long story is, well, this:

I got in without a hitch pretty much.  My heart raced at the thought of slipping and impaling myself on the faucet, but that didn't happen, just like I knew it wouldn't.  I was very happy to get clean:

After washing up and drying off a little I celebrated: "Fuck yeah."

So then it was time to get out, so I grabbed onto the faucet thingy and tried to stand:

Much to my dismay, The Boyfriend was not right there to grab on to:

A new route would have to be found.  Maybe I could lunge forward?

Nope.  So I figured I could swing my leg over the edge, straddle the tub, then swing the other leg over and stand up on the floor in reach of my crutches.

The caption for the previous picture is "OH MY FUCK!"  When I realized that my muscles were still too full of blood (an "internal scab" which is the grossest thing I've ever heard) to work properly, I knew I wasn't going to be lifting my leg out.  But there was another option:

I could sit on the edge of the tub (slipperier and narrower than one would expect) and then shift myself over to the toilet and stand up from there.  I reached:

But did not have the length or upper body strength necessary to do so.  There was only a single other option, and that was not to call The Boyfriend.  I was an independent woman.  I would do this on my own:

And I fucking did:

Hell to the yeah:

With the utmost expertize, I lowered myself flat onto the bathroom floor, legs in the air and propped up on the tub.  I was a fucking miracle worker.  The only thing left was to shimmy backward into the wall and slide my leg down.

After a few choice words I was free at last, free at last!

And that's how I got out of the bathtub on my own that one time without shattering my pelvis or impaling myself on the faucet.

Helen Keller, eat your heart out.

And from there, Robot Unicorn came and flew me off to heaven:

THE END.