Just a quick one today to prove that it is, indeed, still 2020…and things aren’t getting any better in a hurry.
Here’s my long, sad, pathetic tale of woe. Yesterday morning we were planning on getting out for a last minute bit of Christmas shopping…properly masked and social distanced, of course…at some shops in Austin that are sort of exotic and cool and have funky stuff.
Oh, btw, this shopping trip was going to be important to me on a personal level. You see, between Covid and Craziness and Quarantine and all the rest of it, I’m still a bit short on Christmas gifts for Martha. This comes under the heading of decidedly NOT a good thing and yesterday was going to be my last minute round up of Xmas goodies. In case you’re wondering, this is known, technically, as Saving My Hindquarters at the last minute.
So, this morning, we got up bright and early and had plans to head out as soon as possible…
Merry Freaking Christmas To You Too, Santa.
And here’s where it gets embarrassing. If not downright scatological. And I mean that literally. Excretion is the better part of valor. So, if you’re a particularly sensitive soul, you may wish to skim. Or skip. Maybe even Skip To My Lou. With the original Judy Garland, 1941, Meet Me In St. Louis book and music. So we know you’re really serious. And shouldn’t be taken lightly.
Where was I? Oh yes. So we were excited and eager and we were just about to head out when…well, er, ah… nature called. And so I went to the bathroom. And the toilet paper came off the fixture and rolled off on the floor to my left. And then I reached for it. And…and…and…
Ouch. Oh, double ouch. Oh, triple ouch and three quarters.
My back decided to go out. It does that about once every three or four years. I don’t know why. It just does. Usually at the worst possible time. And usually with lots, and lots, and lots of excruciating pain. It feels sort of like…I don’t know…maybe like taking a speeding freight train at full tilt in the small of your back at just about the point where the spine meets the derriere and bounces. Or, in other words, phooey. And darn. And gosh. Or words to that effect.
I staggered out of the good ‘ole salle de bain and tried to do some back stretches on the floor of the office. There are times when that helps.
This time was not one of ‘em.
In fact, once I’d done the exercises, I discovered a new problem. To wit, getting up off the floor. Which didn’t seem to be happening. I thought about calling for a fork lift. Or maybe a block and tackle. But I decided against ‘em. The former was too expensive. The latter…well, all those ropes and things. Just too kinky for that time of day. Maybe in the evening…after a couple of Gin and Tonics, and an Old Fashioned…but I’d never respect myself in the morning.
Felt Sort Of Like This
But getting back to the back. I finally got to my feet with much pulling and heaving and weaving and made it into the kitchen where Martha was. I said (bravely), “So, are you about ready to head out?” She took one look at me and said, “OhMyGod,” and then we had a little chat about how I wasn’t going anywhere…not when I looked like (shudder) an extra from The Night Of the Living Dead. Or, heck, not merely an extra. A lead Zombie. With top billing. And extra maggots.
Finally, I agreed and called my doctor. Fortunately, he had an opening and the next thing I knew Martha was dropping me off at his office. Shortly thereafter, I had to explain, again, how I had thrown my back out. “Kind of an embarrassing story,” I admitted, when I finished.
“Hmm,” he said.
“Maybe I ought to make up something better,” I suggested.
“Hmm,” he agreed.
“So it was like this,” I said. “I was minding my own business at home when a rogue elephant who had escaped from the circus broke into the house. Fortunately, I was able to use my advanced knowledge of Brazilian super-jiu-jitsu and Mixed Martial Arts to subdue him and then cart him back to his mother. Unfortunately, in the process, I threw my back out.”
“Hmm,” he replied.
Anyway, then I got a shot of cortisone in the hindquarters and a prescription for a muscle relaxant.
And that was, pretty much, my tale of yesterday.
The High Point Of My Day. Did I mention "ouch?"
It is now the day after the day in question, i.e., it is 23 December. I’m a little better, but not a whole lot. When I got up this morning I felt like a dumpster fire and moved like a 103 year old man with nuclear chaffing.
But, then, I got out for a brisk walk around the block, and after a mile or so, I was definitely feeling better. Not perfect by a long shot. But better.
However, the real issue is that I didn’t get any more Xmas presents yesterday. Which means that, at the moment, the only thing that may keep me out of the proverbial doghouse this year is a host of IOUs. Well, them, and all the stuff I’ve ordered online but which won’t get here until after Christmas (argh).
And, if those don’t work, I still have my secret weapon.
To wit, on Christmas morning…
I’ll look just adorably doleful.
I mean, really…
Me and doleful…we’re like that.
Until next time…
Onward and upward.
And if we don’t touch base before then, Merry Christmas.