Or Sunday Funday
It’s Sunday (at the time I’m writing this) and I don’t know what to do with myself. I like to play tennis on Saturday and Sunday morning. Three weeks ago, during a match I was running around all willy nilly like Captain Carefree when, in a sudden change of direction move, I rolled my ankle.
You know that injury where your foot stops like it’s supposed to but your leg doesn’t get the memo so you end up standing on your ankle for about two tenths of a second before a lot of swearing ensues? That’s what I did.
My daughter was here at the time so I sucked it up like a goddamned warrior, bought an ankle support wrap from Walgreens and hobbled my way through another two weeks’ worth of tennis by pretending that I was an aging champion and the cameras were on me. Aware of my stoic wince I hit harder that I normally do, doing what I had to do to win. This was what my millions of fans would expect.
The last weekend she was here we went to Fort Desoto which is one of the most beautiful places on this earth. I was walking along, lost in the shimmering, fine white sand, enchanted by the blue green water, enthralled by the lush greenery of the unsullied landscape and not at all staring at a hot babe in a string bikini when I broke my toe.
The parks and rec people (thanks a lot Leslie Knope) cut down a small tree and left the stump raised an inch above the sand. One second it’s all nature and boobs and the next it’s ripped off toenail, blood and a toe going from beige to blue to purple to black and me feeling a certain kinda way about the whole thing.
I spent the week hobbling around which only brought back and then exacerbated the other ankle issue. So now I’m just, like, totally fucking crippled and watching me walk is like watching a drunken zombie try to perform the Macarena only a lot less adorable.
That’s okay though, we can still go to the beach. I just have to get past seeing a black tip shark swim within five feet of me last month. Black tips are known for their aggressive behavior towards humans. That means they eat us. Every chance they get. They eat us like goddamned value meals on couch cushion flipping day. .
We went to the beach and Karen and my daughter swam while I kind of flailed about with wild-eyed panic looking for sharks and trying to stop my bad limbs from dropping off into the water.
When we got home I turned on the news and saw that a flesh eating bacteria had sprung up in the Gulf due to the unusually warm water temps. So thanks a lot to Al Gore for inventing global warming. They said that forty-one people have sickened and ten have been bacterialized to death.
Now Ebola is back, Russia is being a bully, China is earthquaking, Israel is bombing, Ohio’s water is also poisoned, California’s on fire, again, and Kanye West and Kardashian have gone to Ibiza to ruin it forever and I’m never going outside ever again.
So today my plan is to watch movies and drink coffee and nothing more. The End.
Be sure to look at Lost In Spain: A Collection of Humorous Essays by me.
The funniest book you’ve never read.
Yowch. Get better soon and stay away from those sharks!
What’s worse is I hear there’s a tornado coming this way.
You always leave me laughing. Today’s best line ever: They eat us like goddamned value meals…
Well Scott, you’ve done it again. Turned your pain into something laughable. Not that pain is funny. But thank God for a sense of humor.
They probably really do enjoy our flesh. We have to taste better than sea urchin.
That’s what I do Diane, that’s the only way I can deal with my life.
I’m glad you eventually found the correct remedy for your injured limb. You can still exercise the damaged digit by operating the remote control with your foot. Or giving your dog a toe tickle.
The damaged digits are all under wraps and doing fine now GB. It only took packing everything, and I do mean everything, with enough ice to stop global warming.
Boobs take more lives every year than sharks. They’re the silent killer.
We really need to put out a few overly dramatic psa’s. I might need to borrow your, er, help with this one.
So I guess the moral of the story is … exercise is bad for you, as is nature, swimming, travel and, as Amy says, boobs. Oh, and we all know about the Kardashian/West pitfalls (hide if you see them coming and never run northwards)
I don’t think nature is inherently bad, I think nature is just getting old and sickly and might be having a mid-life crisis. Yep, I had a bad feeling that Ibiza was on it’s last legs when I heard about Bloom and Beiber. In the old days the islanders would have never let them off the plane. Now? With the K’s? It’sallover.
Damn. Time to get a y membership and remember not to open umbrellas inside buildings. Hope you’re on the mend.
“Sunday that’s my fund day. My I don’t have to run day.” The last lyric takes on a whole new dimension
Indeed it does. If that thing winds up over here I’ll be running back to Spain.
Yes, darling I am. Sorry I took so damn long to get back to you, I’ve been vacationing.
Yes, yes, indeed, things are really looking up aren’t they? You on the other hand should be looking down way more often. Maybe a higher elevation will be the ticket to your survival.
True, this was what I thought. But then I saw bears and found myself out of breath. I’m not sure I’m equipped to survive anywhere at this point Ken.