Do you remember when you could fall flat on your face and still jump up and yell “I’m okay, I’m okay,” as if nothing had happened.
Yeah. Me neither. My 9-year-old still has it. Not me.
I was just thinking the weather is so gorgeous that I could take my laptop on the deck and write my sermon in the sun, except I’m still aching and hurting and mad at the deck for tripping me. Mostly I’m mad because: 1) I spilled the pop I really wanted to drink; and 2) I landed in that puddle and now have to rewash the jeans I just took out of the dryer and put on in order to go get that pop!
But now, there’s no way I can go sit on the deck because the chairs would kill me. Not only is my hand throbbing from landing on it, but my knee is denim-burned and aching, and my lower back (opposite side from the knee, of course) is just starting to ache in a way that bodes not well at all. Not at all.
Don’t ask me how this happened. I was just coming up the stairs and fa-whop-slam-screech (last part actually emanating from my mouth), I’m face down on the deck in a puddle of pop. And I can’t get up. Thank God for small children with good ears who heard my scream (not to mention the fa-whop-slam) and came running.
I’m adding a Category to my blog now. Call it Aging (old-fart-itis).
Ibuprofin and heat wraps, here I come.
As soon as I can get up.