No really. Not like they don’t creak when going up stairs or are spry and limber. But rather they look like I had a massive wipe out on my awesome big wheel. (Oh. My inner child has an AWESOME big wheel.) Unfortunately, my outer self is the one with the scabbed and scraped up five year old knees.
You know those giant coolers you used to be able to get from McDonalds? The ones full of nasty orange flavored drink? My lovely wife brought home a cooler about that size – but this one was full of really good fizzy raspberry lemonade. Over the course of several days I did my manly duty to try to drink that cooler down. It was just too much.
So, yesterday, it was time to take the cooler outside, dump it, clean it up and get it put away. On the side of my house we have a dirt car port, perfect, I thought, to dump sticky lemonade in. Leading up to the car port is a decorative cement area with rose bushes and wooden spacers between cement blocks.
Stupid…. Wooden…. Spacers…..
On my way over to the dirt, hauling a giant cooler, my toes caught on one of the wooden spacers that have warped upwards a bit. I began to sprawl.
Oh crap! (And other words) went through my brain, while I was somewhat horizontal in the air just above a giant cooler of raspberry lemonade that was already beginning to spill. I’m going to land in the lemonade and get all sticky. *sigh* That is what being a grownup has brought me to. I didn’t want to get sticky. I’m horizontal in the air ABOVE CEMENT and worried about the sticky.
So because I’m insane that way I tried to twist, IN THE AIR, with no leverage at all to get away from the impending giant puddle of sticky lemonade. Through heroic efforts I managed to wrench a muscle or two and then I landed. Face down, complete sprawl, knees on cement and face in dirt. Oh and it turns out that the lemonade when mixed with the fizzy soda is really exceptionally sticky.
I managed to rip out both knees in my jeans as well as bloody both of my actual knees along with a random collection of muscle sprains. The good news is that none of the neighborhood children were near enough to be exposed to a Yo-Samity-Sam style string of cussing.
Now it’s the next day and I’m stiff and my knees hurt. I’m a much bigger baby about being hurt now than I ever was when I was five. Kids just seem to pick up from things like that and after a kiss and a cookie they are back out on that awesome big wheel. Personally? I’m going to leave that cement area alone for a while.
