“I think I sprained my frankle,” I said to my husband.
“Excuse me?” he responded.
“My frankle,” I repeated. “I think I sprained it when I was walking the dog.”
He looked at me in complete confusion.
“What, is a frankle.”
“Your frankle is the front of your ankle,” I said pointing to the part of my body where my foot joined my leg. “The side part is the ankle. The front part is the frankle.”
He snorted. “You totally made that up!”
“Well, what would you call it?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t call it anything. I’d call the DOCTOR and ask him!” He shook his head at me and walked away, muttering. “Frankle? What’s next? Frist? Frelbow? Jeez.”
I massaged my sore whatever it was. I would call the doctor, but how could I explain to him where it hurt? It wasn’t my foot. It was above that. It wasn’t my shin. It was below that. It was around the corner from my ankle. Clearly, it was my frankle.
I was pretty sure the medical community did not have a real name for this part of the anatomy so I didn’t see anything wrong with coming up with my own designation. I thought this could really help bridge a language gap between doctors and other patients who may have suffered some kind of frankle injury like myself. Who knows, maybe this is something that has frustrated doctors and scientists for eons. I could be hailed as a real hero. They might write about me in the New England Journal of Medicine. I could win a Nobel prize or at least an Emmy (Best Performance in the Injury of a Frankle).
“I hurt my frankle!” I announced gleefully to my kids as I hobbled into the kitchen.
They looked at me like I had two heads.
“Your WHAT?” asked my son.
“My frankle. The front of my ankle,” I stated.
“That’s called your SHIN!” said my daughter.
“No, your shin is here,” I said, pointing to my shin. “The frankle is lower.” She looked at her father for help. He shrugged and gave her that look they always exchange when I make stupid stuff up.
“Look, I’ll prove it to you,” I said limping over to the computer. I Googled “frankle” and “front of ankle” and hit search.
Nothing came up.
“See, there’s no such thing as a frankle,” said my daughter.
“No, that’s my point,” I explained. “There is no word for that part of the body… yet! But there needs to be, so I invented it. And soon everyone will be using it because it makes such perfect sense!”
This is about the time that they all decided to completely ignore me.
Pouting, I grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and sat down to ice my sore frankle. I really couldn’t understand why my family was not more excited about my discovery. I thought I had made an important contribution to science. I was pretty sure this was how Isaac Newton felt when that stupid apple fell on his head and he came up with the concept of gravity.
“Oh shoot,” I blurted out “I just remembered I’m supposed to take the dog to the groomers.”
“I’ll take him, honey, so you can keep icing your frankle,” said my husband with a wry smile.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” he said as he gave me a peck. “Feel better, and have a frantastic day!”
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