Frankly my dear ankle

Dear Ankles,

Hey guys, how's it going down there? Thought I forgot about you, didn't you? Ok, I'll admit I don't think about you a lot. Hardly at all really. On the bright side, I never think you're too fat. I never (ok, rarely) worry that you'll become cankles when I'm old. So see, it's really a compliment that I never think of you. You're usually super awesome at doing your thing, connecting my feet to my calves and taking me all the places I want to go. Infinity of thanks for that, by the way. I mean, where would I be without you? Nowhere good, that's where. I couldn't run, I couldn't walk, I couldn't slam dunk. What? We slam dunk all the time. Don't even pretend this is the first you've heard of it.

So ankles, thanks for 30 years of literally supporting me. But I do have a beef with you (and I learned about beef from the Notorious B.I.G. so watch out). Frankly my dear ankle, you've been a real pain lately. I've tried resting and icing and Ibuprofening the heck out of you, but you're still tender to the touch. Why so sensitive? I don't know what your deal is, but please get it sorted out soon. I'd appreciate it if you could go back to carrying me around without complaint. And then we can get some celebratory rice krispie treats. Or funny socks. Or whatever it is that ankles are into these days.

We're going to be stuck together for a long time, at least I really Really REALLY hope so. It would be nice if we could make the best of it, don't you agree?

From Robot, with eternal gratitude and undying love.

Lyric of the moment: "What's beef? Beef is when you make your enemies start your Jeep. Beef is when you roll no less than thirty deep. Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be in ICU, check it..." (I don't know what any of that means, but it sounds tough. These are obviously empty threats, since I don't have a Jeep and we better not find ourselves up in the ICU any time soon, or ever, but please ankles, just heal yourselves so we can get back to doing awesome things.)