There is so much wisdom to be gained from a broken arm. 

Refrain from breaking your arm chief among that wisdom. 

I’m going to impart some of that wisdom to you, a spin on the grandmotherly adage to always wear clean underwear.  

We’ll take it on a timeline because you really have to get crackin’ if you’re planning on breaking your arm there, my friend. 

Birth …

You’ll spend your life growing your hair lovely and long. Good for you. 

But here’s the thing. 

Getting out of your shirts one-handed is a daily fiasco and what Jerry Seinfeld would call bad naked. Eventually, you’ll realize getting the shirt’s rear hem to your mid-back allows you to grab that hem with your good arm. 

You can then yank that hem over your head, like a dude heading to the shower after a workout. 

Again, good for you. 

Except your long hair gets tangled in your shirt so you wind up yanking both shirt and hair.  

Why? Why do you have long hair at your age? Are you a Real Housewife? A Kardashian? A ’90s supermodel? 

No.  

Get that nonsense under control. 

23 Years Before Breaking Your Arm …

Marry a guy bigger than you. 

The emergency room staff will put you in a monstrosity of a cast, encompassing your mid-bicep to just below your fingernails. 

Yeah. My husband had to cut me out of the button-down flannel I adored. 

“I’ll need to borrow some of your button-downs,” I told my husband. Although I could get into a short-sleeved shirt, I broke my arm as a cold snap settled in. I’d need something warmer.  

My husband dug out a few of his heavy flannels. 

Which brings me to two subpoints. One, marry an outdoorsman. I lived in his thick outdoor wools for weeks.  

But two, don’t marry a guy too much bigger than you. 

My husband has nearly one foot and more than 60 pounds on me. For weeks, I looked like a kid playing dress-up. 

Or, you know, a Real Housewife playing dress-up. 

17 Years Before Breaking Your Arm …

You’ll turn the attic into a master bedroom suite. Great. 

For the love of all that’s holy, make sure the distance between the bathroom outlet and the drawer of hair supplies is the exact length of the hair dryer cord.  

Because here’s the thing. 

You can’t hold the hair dryer in one hand while you plug the hair dryer in with your other hand because your other hand doesn’t work, dingus. 

And stop trying to use both hands to plug in the hair dryer. Just stop.  

It’s extraordinarily painful. You know this. Do you really think it’s going to be any less painful on days two, three, seven of a broken arm? 

No. 

But what you can do is let the business end of the hair dryer rest in the open hair supply drawer while your working hand plugs it in. 

And then put on The Christmas Album by Air Supply because turning “hair supply” into an Air Supply pun is just too good to pass up. 

Two Days Before Breaking Your Arm …

Clean your house and paint your nails.  

I’m not kidding.  

You won’t be able to clean your house for weeks. 

I mean, sure. You’ll vacuum when no one is around to tell you to stop. Of course you will.  

And you’ll look as awkward vacuuming with one hand as you do getting a shirt off, but you won’t be freaking out about your carpets. 

And since no one is around while you’re vacuuming, you can do it with your shirt off. Make it more awkward. 

You can fantasize all you want about someone — anyone — grabbing a broom or straightening the area rug. 

But nobody in your house is as what you call neat — and what they call obsessive — as you. 

Also, you’ll have some bangin’ nails peeking from that cast. Which is great because you can’t paint ’em one-handed. 

While Your Arm is Broken …

Sweetheart, I love you so much. But you have to let go of your germ thing. 

You have just so many rules about germs. 

And I get it. I really do. What kind of psychopath doesn’t wipe down the kitchen counter each morning? Doesn’t avoid touching the shower’s walls? Doesn’t shower immediately after cleaning the toilets? 

But you have to be that psychopath. I’m sorry, but you do.  

Your mornings are exponentially longer because you are now the proverbial one-armed paper hanger. You really must be OK with — gah — making your smoothie on a counter dotted with crumbs. 

So gross. I know. 

And showering. Angels and ministers of grace defend us, because showering with a broken arm is a joke. 

If I don’t die of some infectious disease between now and the next few weeks, I’ll tell you all about it.  

Which brings me to my last point. 

One Day Before Surgery for Your Broken Arm …

Do not have your wedding ring cut off by a jeweler. 

I was told to remove my rings ahead of surgery. But getting my rings over my swollen, bruised fingers tugged at something deep and injured in that fracture.  

My surgeon — talk about angels and ministers of grace defending us — was able to slip my ring off, fully intact, once I was begrudgingly asleep in the operating room.  

We bought my ring for about $150. Its value is more emotional than financial.  

I also don’t think now is a good time to hit my husband with subtle reminders he’s absolutely able to bail on this situation. 

I want him to think he’s stuck here. 

“Why didn’t you just go to a jeweler, get it cut off?” I was asked.  

I mean, it’s not like I planned this …