I love this song.
I have to run to the doctor to see how my plantar fasciitis is doing, or Plantation Fascist, as my coworker The Poet would call it. I guess I cannot literally run there, seeing as I do have the Plantation Fascist. Ned assures me they can't give me another shot in my foot today, that they have to spread those shots out. Ned is the expert on things falling apart--he works out every day and as a result has a bad back and a knee thing. If I were him I'd just sit around.
Remember when we used to be 17 and just got up in the morning and walked around like it was normal? Nothing was achy or needed tweaking?
Some day I'll say, "Remember being 47 and you could just walk around being normal? Oh, things ached a little, but at least you didn't need this walker with the tennis balls on the bottom."
Can't they invent something a little more sophisticated than those tennis balls? It seems like everyone just defaulted to them. "Oh those walkers suck. Cut you a tennis ball and stick it on there." Seems like we should rage against the faultiness of the walker a little more than that.
Maybe I'll wait for that particular battle.
In the meantime, Ned and I saw 12 Angry Men last night [insert political joke here] [insert joke about all the men who don't get to have them the June here] [insert joke about the 12 readers who wish I'd move along here], and when it was over, we turned to each other and at the same time said, "That guy was totally guilty."
I guess we're over Henry Fonda. I'd really like to LIKE Henry Fonda, because he's cute and earnest and stands up for the little guy, but now I know he was a rotten father to Jane Fonda, who I kind of like, and whose veeedeos I totally worked out to in the '80s. My friends and I would do Jane Fonda and order pizza after. I was a size two.
We also used to listen to this hypnosis tape that would supposedly make us not hungry anymore, which, hello, again, hello. Size TWO. Of ourse, the whole time I listened to that tape I thought about ordering Chinese.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I choked to death at the movie. Got a popcorn kernel right in my throat and could NOT breathe. Finally I was able to wheeze a little and Ned said to himself, "Why is June singing during the movie?" Remind me not to die in front of Ned in the future.
I had to lift my arms over my head and stay calm and breathe through my nose. Finally I was able to sputter and cough. "Were you CHOKING?" asked Ned, who should probably be an EMT.
"Yes," I gasped.
"I could've Hemliched you," he said, heading for me like he was going to do it in retrospect.
"I'm FINE," I said, moving away.
"Of course, it would have made me nervous as hell to Heimlich you. What if I broke your ribs or something?"
Could you re-remind me not to die in front of Ned anymore?
Anyway, that was my chilling evening. I lived. Which I guess at this point is all I can ask for.
Tune in tomorrow to hear all about my foot!
....Where did those crickets come from?