Fracking Kentucky

I just learned a new way to express a commonly-used obscenity in a way that is both publicly acceptable and hilarious: "Frack." I use this new-found word to describe how I currently feel about the state of Kentucky. Primarily because the following incident occurred:

Last night, my team and I decided it would be a lovely idea to head into downtown Cincinnati after dinner and take a stroll across the historic Roebling Suspension Bridge. Built in 1866, it connects Cincinnati to Kentucky and is a great location for photos like the ones my teammate Gaby and I were taking as we skipped across the bridge joyfully yelling, "We're running to Kentucky! We're skipping to Kentucky! etc."




Then, just moments over the center point of the bridge where you actually cross into Kentucky, this happened:

Wipe out. Not 2 feet into the dang state I tripped, fell, and ripped the shite out of my knee. I also tore a hole in my brand new NorthFace coat, ruined my pants, and shredded a glove. I assure you there was significant complaining on my part for the rest of the night, but I decided to suck it up and enjoy a delicious ice cream at Graeter's in Fountain Square. After all, this was a classic Darcy move as evidenced by the fact that my mom's initial response to hearing of this mishap was, "Oh, Darcy. Don't you know by now that you're not good at running?" Fair enough, Mom. Fair enough. After purchasing this sundae and a 32oz bottle of hydrogen peroxide, I guess I'll chalk it up to a good story.