The Saucer Swing. And no, it didn’t suddenly start snowing in San Francisco. I
|
It was supposed to be a little pratfall, that’s all. Sadly, I was the prat.
Boobaby and one of her posse of four-year olds were on the playground’s saucer swing this Monday. Do you know these things? They’re large concave metal disks that started showing up in San Francisco playgrounds a couple of years ago. Admirably, it’s basically impossible to fall off one of ‘em — something about centrifugal force, I think, glues your butt down unless you bodily fling yourself off. Which I don’t recommend, because they weigh a ton, and the last place you want to be is anywhere near one swinging unless a smashed kneecap interests you.
Anyway, I’m pushing, girls are riding, and O. toddles over, interested.
I gingerly bring the massive steel disk to a halt. “Do you want to get on the swing, O.?” I ask. He doesn’t. “Do you want to stand next to me and push?” No, he doesn’t. In fact, all he wants to do is stand right up next to the swing, in what I euphemistically call “the kill zone.”
“Well, you see, if you stand there, you could get hit!” I note. “See, watch!”
I proceed to push the swing about three inches, intending to perform a dramatic stage-fall when it returns to tap me on the shin. I pathetically admit, though, that I’m wildly overzealous when it comes to cheap toddler entertainment. I’m that guy who’ll resort to “pull my finger” jokes or singing Avril Lavigne’s greatest hits to make a three-year old smile. So instead of just falling on my keister for the predictable laughs, I lunch myself toes over tits (so to speak) into a full back somersault, landing unceremoniously on one outstretched toe with my nose inches from the recycled rubber matting.
“Tah-dah!” I manage to shout with the last few milliliters of air in my lungs. A sharp pain radiates from somewhere in my liver-kidney-duodenum region (my anatomy is fuzzy), and a bright pain from the epicenter of my ego. I walk it off as gamely as I could, betraying no — aw, crap. Betraying every iota of PAIN PAIN PAIN in my BACK BACK BACK. I’m no hero.
Now I’ve cornered the ibuprofen market and I’m sleeping on four precisely-placed pillows. Anything for a laugh, right? I didn’t really need that spleen, anyway — don’t you have two of those?
{ 1 trackback }
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
Bwaaaaaa haaaaa haaaaaa *deep breath* bwaaaaa haaaaaaa haaaaaaaa!!!!!
Um, oops. I mean, you poor thing, hope you are feeling better…. *snigger*
I’m practicing that upward inflection at the end of sentences, like teenage girls do:
“Thanks for your, um, concern?”
you big wally
Aw, thanks!
“Wally” is Irish slang for “
guybloke who recognizes his shortcomings but is basically cool,” right?Right?
Out of curiousty, did you ever do a back flip before that moment?
Is that what I did? My back and/or head and/or ass was in contact with the ground the whole time, though — I thought that made it a somersault. Wouldn’t a flip mean getting airborne?
But, in any case, to answer your question:
No.
Hey Dood,
If it’s any consolation, I was playing with my own kids a few weeks ago and through my sacrum out so badly, I was unable to walk. The chiropractor “put it back,” but the lingering sciatica has me wearing a heat wrap and smelling like icy hot all day and it’s hardly getting better!.
My students wonder why the classroom smells like Lifesavers and I am off to bed right behind my kids due to exhaustion from constant, nagging pain.
And I don’t even have a playground hero story to make me look good!
Feel better!
Debbie
Aw, man… yours sounds a lot worse than mine!
I’d laugh but that would be such bad karma for me.
I hope you feel better soon.
Whew! The snow pic freaked me out about as bad as imaginging your fall. This weather has been so crazy I thought it could be possible.