Talk Derby to me.

I am not a victim of domestic abuse. I am a derby chick, much to the amusement of my doctor and her assistant this morning. They looked at my shins, glanced at each other and I immediately said,

"It's not what you think. I am in roller derby."

Throughout the entire visit I blathered on about . . . well . . . do I even need to tell you? They asked what my derby name was, where they can get tickets, etc. And when I winced in response to her telling me I needed a shot for the biopsy, she said,

"C'mon, it can't be worse than taking a hit, right?"

True.

As I was leaving the office the receptionist asked me if I was in derby (I am wearing my Derby Girls sweatshirt) and I stood there for another 5 minutes or so gushing, explaining that when I started derby I hadn't been on roller skates for about 13 years, told those ladies where to get tickets. PROMOTE PROMOTE PROMOTE.

I think I am in love. I must be.