Unfortunately I have learned that, unlike my husband, the scanner does not respond to thinly-veiled threats and lots of kicking.
So that post is still in the pipeline, it's just taking longer than I anticipated.
To pass the time, I thought I'd tell the tales of a few of the many many times I have managed to get myself grieviously injured over the last 28 years.
In Which I Learn That I Can Not, In Fact, Fly.
Age: However old one is in third grade. I could figure this out I suppose.
Location: The gym at my elementary school.
Other Pertinent Info: I was, for reasons I can not possibly fathom, not wearing any underwear that day. Which was quite embarassing for my mother at the hospital. Oh yes, I go to the hospital in this story.
So when I was in third grade, I had not yet grown into my monkey arms (as pictured in this post.) And I was very awkward. But, like a real monkey, I was also very good at climbing things. So I got really excited every year when it was time for the gymnastics unit in gym class. Because I could scramble up the climbing rope like no other, and then get a very fancy certificate and the praise of everyone in my class (and even some fourth & fifth graders!) for doing so.
When the fateful day finally arrived, I made sure I was wearing nylons under my shorts because I had this theory that nyloned legs were grippier than non-nyloned legs (apparently nylons also render underwear superfluous?) and donned my lucky pink denim vest.
And then I caught the bus to school. On which I probably read Little Women for the eightieth time.
And then I probably learned how to spell 'principal' (your principal is a Prince of a Pal) and then probably got yelled at for eating Oreos in class (this happened, let's just say, more than once.)
One thing that I remember for sure is that I was a ball of anticipation until the hour for gym class finally arrived.
When it was my turn to climb the rope, I threw myself at that thing like some sort of wild banshee and started wrestling my unclad butt to the top.
I felt the room go quiet as I neared the red bandana that (if I touched it) signified that I would indeed earn my climbing certificate that day. And then something went very wrong. As I made to reach up to grasp that beacon of grade school acclaim, my arms got sort of crossed and tangled together and I lost grip of the rope. And I fell, approximately 19 feet as estimated by the paramedics, which is bullshit, since I know for a fact that the bandana was 20 feet from the ground.
And I landed on a thin mat.
|Not A Thick Cushy Mat Like This Landing Mat. Also, No One Was Holding The Bottom Of My Rope. The Early Nineties Were VERY Dangerous Times.|
And then the paramedics arrived and made me wiggle my toes one thousand times. And then strapped me onto a board and loaded me into the back of the ambulance just as my mother arrived.
And then they busted out the siren and drove me to the hospital. Where it was discovered I was not wearing any underwear and oddly was instead wearing nylons under jean shorts.
XRay, XRay, XRay. Blah Blah Blah.
Miraculously I was going to be ok. Just a few broken ribs, a back that was pretty destroyed and painful, and some toes that were sore from all the wiggling.
And then I got to stay home from school and lay on the couch and have my meals brought to me for TWO WEEKS. And I got like fifty cards and presents and even a balloon bouquet. And my mom made me cakes on the daily yo. And then I went back to school and was extremely popular and awesome and my teacher told me that if I ever felt like I needed to walk around to ease my back to do so, even in the middle of class. (She regretted THAT.)
And I decided I was done climbing down ropes. It was obviously more to my benefit to climb up them and then just fling myself to the ground. And I couldn't wait until the gymnastics unit the next year.
But then climbing ropes were outlawed at all of the schools in the district. And I had to focus on other challenges. Like how far it was possible to lean back in my chair before falling into the kiddie pool that housed 29 crayfish (not as far as you would think.) (No crayfish were harmed. And I got to go home early because I was all wet.)
But anyway that, my friends, is the first time I can remember being seriously injured. Unless you count knocking my front tooth out on the monkey bars in second grade seriously injured. (I got to go home early that day too.)
Does anyone else feel sort of sorry for my mom right now?
Here's what's coming up next:
Best Friends' Fist to Face
Line Drive to Face ( I get hit in the face a lot.)
Broken Leg From Blatantly Ignoring Doctor's Advice
An Allergy I Consistently Decide To Pretend Does Not Exist
Digging Up Hornets Nest And Then Being Chased By Hornets
Very Serious Sunburn (Which it seems addled my brain enough to make me shout ridiculous things in the middle of Nordstrom)
Be excited blogstalkers. I do all of these things for you. Not because I'm ungainly and invite disaster at every turn.