One day at work, I was really, really, really, really bored. I had nothing to do but stare at the walls, twiddle my thumbs, and marvel at the intricacies of the human body.
I started staring at my hand. Really staring. My knuckes suddenly seemed fascinating and I flexed my fingers over and over again to watch the tendons and ligaments work in perfect union just under the skin. I marvelled at the multitude of things I could do with my hands and how each bone and muscle must function properly in order to perform the most simple task.
I flipped my hands over to examine the palms. I looked carefully at the lines criss-crossing the palms and at the swirls of my fingerprints. I wiggled my fingers some more and began to think about how strong my hands are (in comparison to the rest of my body). I bent my fingers into a claw-like shape the pushed on the fingertips. Yup. Those are some strong fingers. I'm pushing as hard as I can and my claw isn't collapsing at all. How useful, I thought.
Hmmm... useful.... useful for what exactly? Well, anytime I need to grip something, especially if I'm going to grip and then pull. Like if I was opening a really heavy door. Or, let's say I needed to dig in the dirt but didn't have a shovel. Strong fingers might come in handy. Maybe I got into a fight and needed to claw at someone. It would be very useful to have strong fingers with which to claw at your opponent, I would think. Especially, if you wanted to claw their eyes out, right?
But if you were fighting an able-bodied opponent. surely they would be resisting with their own strong hands and fingers. How would they do that exactly? Well, the most obvious way would be to grab my wrist and try to keep my claw away from their face. Which would be harder? Trying to claw someone's face or trying to keep your own face from being clawed?
This was worth an experiment. I tightened my fingers again and began to move the claw toward my face. I grabbed my wrist with the other hand and tried to force the approaching claw away from my eyes.
It was an epic struggle. I contorted my face and began to make sound effects to add drama to the scene. Left hand approaches... no! It's forced away by righty! Right hand seems to have an extra advantage, but wait! Argh! The claw gains some ground as righty wears down! Will Andrea loose her eyes after all?! There can be only one winner! Only one will be victori...
"Andrea. What the h*ll are you doing?" a co-worker asks from the doorway.
I'm startled by her sudden appearance. Think fast, Andrea! "I was, uh, stretching."
"Really? Why were you growling?"
"Well, you know...it was a stretching-noise."
"Uh-huh. Right." She looks at me strangely for another minute then leaves, unconvinced.
I just thought it would take too long to explain to her my fascination with the mysteries of the human body. Well, that and she did catch me trying to claw my own face off. That's a little embarassing.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Argument Clinic
I had a strange and frustrating dream the other night. When I woke up, I told Brett about it.
Me: So, I had this dream last night that I was in a room full of people trying to lead some sort of discussion. But whenever I said something, someone in the group would argue with me. It was so frustrating. They argued with literally every single thing I said.
Brett: No they didn't.
Me: So, I had this dream last night that I was in a room full of people trying to lead some sort of discussion. But whenever I said something, someone in the group would argue with me. It was so frustrating. They argued with literally every single thing I said.
Brett: No they didn't.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
It's the gift that counts
I have serious issues when it comes to buying gifts for people. My usual and customary tendency toward indecisiveness becomes a crippling and paralyzing force when faced with picking out gifts for friends and family. If my friend and I were at the store together and he or she picked up an item, showed it to me and said, "I would absolutely LOVE to have this EXACT thing! This one! Right here! This one I'm holding RIGHT NOW!" I might feel confident in my decision to purchase it for him or her. Maybe.
The blame for this singular facet of my personality lies square on the shoulders of my friend Portland, about whom I have spoken on a couple of occasions.
It was Christmastime and our friendship was such that we exchanged gifts on special occasions. Other than family, I didn't have a lot of people to shop for that year. That was good because I also didn't have a lot of money. I thought if I could find the perfect gift for Portland, he would know that what I lacked in money I made up for in thoughtfulness.
So, I began to think. The more thought, the better, I thought. For a gift to be truly thoughtful, it must take into account the preferences and personality of the recipient. It should say, "I know you well enough to know that you would like this." Personally, I also really like to receive gifts that are things I would use if I had them but would never actually go out and buy for myself--useful but slightly impractical. Also, a dash of creativity goes a long way toward saying, "I was thinking about you."
Well, Portland didn't have a lot of diverse hobbies. He liked music, but he only deemed a few select artists worthy of his time. He collected rare, bootleg recordings of worthy performers but he already had every recording known to man. I didn't want to risk trying to buy something rare that he might already have or that he might deem unworthy.
Portland was also into computers. His personal computer was always a work-in-progress, waiting for the next memory or operating system upgrade. I would be way over my head trying to find the latest and greatest computer thingie.
But, an idea slowly formed. I knew that his computer was in the basement and that the basement was pretty cold in December. We would often chat in the wee hours of the morning and he would complain that his parents had turned off the heat when they went to bed. His ill-tempered cat occasionally deigned to sit on his lap to keep it warm, but for the most part he had to wear layers and layers of clothes.
Aha! thought I. What about a big box full of keeping-warm stuff? Polar fleece blankets were very popular that year and all the stores had stacks of them piled on the shelves. I picked out a manly pattern, lest a snuggly blanket seem too girly. I added a Far Side mug (he was a fan), several packets of gourmet hot chocolate, and a pair of those stretchy gloves, which I thought would keep his hands warm while he typed.
My package was complete. Because of the fluffy blanket, it was a very large box, but not heavy. I mailed it off and waited for him to tell me it had arrived. He called a few days later.
"So, I had to go to the post office today and pick up a big box...a big box from Camino. It had your return address on it..." he told me coyly. "I wonder what's in it."
"You haven't opened it yet? I'm surprised you're waiting until Christmas. I wouldn't. If you want to open it ahead of time, go ahead. I'm not going to wait to open yours."
"Well, since I probably won't send mine until after Christmas, you won't have to wait."
"Uh, okay. Open it if you want, though."
"Well, my brother was here when I brought the box home. He's dying to know what's in it. He's been bugging me non-stop all day. I might not be able to put him off. He's excited because it's such a big box, but not heavy. We can't even guess what it might be. I'll let you know if we do open it, though."
The peer pressure eventually got to be too much and he didn't end up waiting until Christmas. During our next conversation, he was much more subdued.
"So, I opened the box. Thanks for the present. It's really nice."
"Yeah? Did you like it? Did you get what I was trying to do? It's all stuff to keep you warm. You know, since you spend so much time in the basement on the computer."
"Uh, yeah. I get it now. I, uh, wasn't sure before. So, yeah, thanks."
"Wasn't sure? What do you mean? You sound weird. Was it damaged?" I began to worry that the mug had shattered or the cocoa packets had leaked all over the inside of the box.
"No. Everything was fine."
"Well, what is the deal then? I can tell there's something wrong."
"Well, it just that... um... this is mostly my brother's thing, so don't get me wrong or anything... it's just that well, you have to understand, he was really excited to see what was in the box...so when I opened it... well...I mean I really liked it when I first saw it..."
"Just spit it out!"
"Well, when I opened it, my first thought was, 'Cool, what a great blanket!' But my brother was there and he said, 'What kind of crap is this? A blanket? What did she do? Just grab the first thing she saw when she walked into the store? How stupid!' But that's not what I thought, honest. That was all my brother."
"Well, I don't really care what your brother thinks. The gift wasn't for him, anyway. It doesn't surprise me that he doesn't 'get it.' So what's the problem?"
"It's just that...after he said that... I got to thinking, 'What if she did just grab the first thing she saw?' And then I got to thinking that it did kind of look like something that someone who didn't really want to buy a gift would pick out. So, did you really want to get me a present this year or did you just get this because you had to? Because, if not, then I'll just send this back to you..."
I was speechless. My gift, the one I had been so proud of and had taken such care with, was not only unappreciated, but had sent him into a state of paranoid frenzy about whether or not we were actually friends.
More than anything, though, this was an indicator of his very, very weak character. His brother's mindless comments influenced him so greatly that he began to dislike the gift that, by his own admission, he initially liked.
Serious injury inflicted. It haunts me to this day. I'm scarred for life.
The next year (why we were still friends the next year is still a mystery to me) at Christmastime, I went shopping for him again. I made one stop. I grabbed the first shirt I saw in his size. It looked exactly like a shirt he already owned. I called him and told him I was sending something but that I had put absolutely no thought into his gift and that I truly did buy him the first thing I saw and that he should prepared to be disappointed.
The irony was lost on him. He had forgotten the previous year's debacle. When the package arrived, he called to tell me how surprised he was.
"Well, I was expecting something stupid because you kept talking about how lame it was...but when I opened the box, there was this really cool shirt inside. I love it! It's just like one I have! Why would you think that I wouldn't like it?"
Why, indeed. I guess, for some, it really is the gift that counts.
The blame for this singular facet of my personality lies square on the shoulders of my friend Portland, about whom I have spoken on a couple of occasions.
It was Christmastime and our friendship was such that we exchanged gifts on special occasions. Other than family, I didn't have a lot of people to shop for that year. That was good because I also didn't have a lot of money. I thought if I could find the perfect gift for Portland, he would know that what I lacked in money I made up for in thoughtfulness.
So, I began to think. The more thought, the better, I thought. For a gift to be truly thoughtful, it must take into account the preferences and personality of the recipient. It should say, "I know you well enough to know that you would like this." Personally, I also really like to receive gifts that are things I would use if I had them but would never actually go out and buy for myself--useful but slightly impractical. Also, a dash of creativity goes a long way toward saying, "I was thinking about you."
Well, Portland didn't have a lot of diverse hobbies. He liked music, but he only deemed a few select artists worthy of his time. He collected rare, bootleg recordings of worthy performers but he already had every recording known to man. I didn't want to risk trying to buy something rare that he might already have or that he might deem unworthy.
Portland was also into computers. His personal computer was always a work-in-progress, waiting for the next memory or operating system upgrade. I would be way over my head trying to find the latest and greatest computer thingie.
But, an idea slowly formed. I knew that his computer was in the basement and that the basement was pretty cold in December. We would often chat in the wee hours of the morning and he would complain that his parents had turned off the heat when they went to bed. His ill-tempered cat occasionally deigned to sit on his lap to keep it warm, but for the most part he had to wear layers and layers of clothes.
Aha! thought I. What about a big box full of keeping-warm stuff? Polar fleece blankets were very popular that year and all the stores had stacks of them piled on the shelves. I picked out a manly pattern, lest a snuggly blanket seem too girly. I added a Far Side mug (he was a fan), several packets of gourmet hot chocolate, and a pair of those stretchy gloves, which I thought would keep his hands warm while he typed.
My package was complete. Because of the fluffy blanket, it was a very large box, but not heavy. I mailed it off and waited for him to tell me it had arrived. He called a few days later.
"So, I had to go to the post office today and pick up a big box...a big box from Camino. It had your return address on it..." he told me coyly. "I wonder what's in it."
"You haven't opened it yet? I'm surprised you're waiting until Christmas. I wouldn't. If you want to open it ahead of time, go ahead. I'm not going to wait to open yours."
"Well, since I probably won't send mine until after Christmas, you won't have to wait."
"Uh, okay. Open it if you want, though."
"Well, my brother was here when I brought the box home. He's dying to know what's in it. He's been bugging me non-stop all day. I might not be able to put him off. He's excited because it's such a big box, but not heavy. We can't even guess what it might be. I'll let you know if we do open it, though."
The peer pressure eventually got to be too much and he didn't end up waiting until Christmas. During our next conversation, he was much more subdued.
"So, I opened the box. Thanks for the present. It's really nice."
"Yeah? Did you like it? Did you get what I was trying to do? It's all stuff to keep you warm. You know, since you spend so much time in the basement on the computer."
"Uh, yeah. I get it now. I, uh, wasn't sure before. So, yeah, thanks."
"Wasn't sure? What do you mean? You sound weird. Was it damaged?" I began to worry that the mug had shattered or the cocoa packets had leaked all over the inside of the box.
"No. Everything was fine."
"Well, what is the deal then? I can tell there's something wrong."
"Well, it just that... um... this is mostly my brother's thing, so don't get me wrong or anything... it's just that well, you have to understand, he was really excited to see what was in the box...so when I opened it... well...I mean I really liked it when I first saw it..."
"Just spit it out!"
"Well, when I opened it, my first thought was, 'Cool, what a great blanket!' But my brother was there and he said, 'What kind of crap is this? A blanket? What did she do? Just grab the first thing she saw when she walked into the store? How stupid!' But that's not what I thought, honest. That was all my brother."
"Well, I don't really care what your brother thinks. The gift wasn't for him, anyway. It doesn't surprise me that he doesn't 'get it.' So what's the problem?"
"It's just that...after he said that... I got to thinking, 'What if she did just grab the first thing she saw?' And then I got to thinking that it did kind of look like something that someone who didn't really want to buy a gift would pick out. So, did you really want to get me a present this year or did you just get this because you had to? Because, if not, then I'll just send this back to you..."
I was speechless. My gift, the one I had been so proud of and had taken such care with, was not only unappreciated, but had sent him into a state of paranoid frenzy about whether or not we were actually friends.
More than anything, though, this was an indicator of his very, very weak character. His brother's mindless comments influenced him so greatly that he began to dislike the gift that, by his own admission, he initially liked.
Serious injury inflicted. It haunts me to this day. I'm scarred for life.
The next year (why we were still friends the next year is still a mystery to me) at Christmastime, I went shopping for him again. I made one stop. I grabbed the first shirt I saw in his size. It looked exactly like a shirt he already owned. I called him and told him I was sending something but that I had put absolutely no thought into his gift and that I truly did buy him the first thing I saw and that he should prepared to be disappointed.
The irony was lost on him. He had forgotten the previous year's debacle. When the package arrived, he called to tell me how surprised he was.
"Well, I was expecting something stupid because you kept talking about how lame it was...but when I opened the box, there was this really cool shirt inside. I love it! It's just like one I have! Why would you think that I wouldn't like it?"
Why, indeed. I guess, for some, it really is the gift that counts.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Begging for more
I have heard the cries of my eager public for "new material." Well, not really. But, here's some old material to tide you over until another serious injury comes my way.
I started this post after Memorial Day, but didn't get around to finishing or posting it until July. The blog-thingie gods saw fit to assign to it the date I had started composing it instead of the date I actually hit the "publish" button. I'm sure that's some kind of special feature that I should be grateful my blog service offers, but I think it's stupid. And the three seconds of investigatory work I put into the project trying to change the date yielded no immediate results.
So, enjoy.
I started this post after Memorial Day, but didn't get around to finishing or posting it until July. The blog-thingie gods saw fit to assign to it the date I had started composing it instead of the date I actually hit the "publish" button. I'm sure that's some kind of special feature that I should be grateful my blog service offers, but I think it's stupid. And the three seconds of investigatory work I put into the project trying to change the date yielded no immediate results.
So, enjoy.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Spring chicken
I was standing at the sink doing dishes last night when Brett snuck up behind me, put his arms around my waist and laid his head on my back. We stood there for a moment, enjoying the closeness. Eventually, he picked his head up, but didn't let go of my waist.
All of a sudden, I felt a sting on my scalp, like a bug bite. Then another. And another.
"Ow. OW!" I cried. "What's going on? What are you doing back there?"
"I thought you'd want me to get this out of your hair..."
"Get what out? Is it a spider? I think it bit me! Get it out! Get it out!"
Brett reaches his arm around and dangles something in my face, too close for me to see. "Look how long it is!" he says admiringly.
I crane my neck backward and the object between his fingertips comes into focus.
It's a gray hair. Very long. Very gray. Very unwelcome.
It has friends, too. There's a party going on and all the gray hairs are invited.
All of a sudden, I felt a sting on my scalp, like a bug bite. Then another. And another.
"Ow. OW!" I cried. "What's going on? What are you doing back there?"
"I thought you'd want me to get this out of your hair..."
"Get what out? Is it a spider? I think it bit me! Get it out! Get it out!"
Brett reaches his arm around and dangles something in my face, too close for me to see. "Look how long it is!" he says admiringly.
I crane my neck backward and the object between his fingertips comes into focus.
It's a gray hair. Very long. Very gray. Very unwelcome.
It has friends, too. There's a party going on and all the gray hairs are invited.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Second Law of Thermodynamics
Our new car seems to have a target on it. It's been hit twice (while parked) since we bought it a year ago. My dad summed up the situation thusly:
"Yup. You just can't keep anything nice."
I was discussing this with my boss, who was a physicist in a former life, and he informed me that my dad's pithy statement was actually a simplification of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. "The universe, as a whole, tends toward disorder," he told me, with the glee of a professor expounding the laws of the physics to a dewy-eyed freshman. "You're always going to have to expend energy to keep that particular structure of molecules perfectly ordered."
Apparently, my shiny new car is offending the universe by being so pristine. Bummer.
Then I got to thinking. Maybe the disorder that's being inflicted on my vehicle is due to too much organization elsewhere in the universe. Maybe there are places and things in the universe that are organized so rigidly and precisely that the universe has no choice but to continually put dents in my car, just to compensate.
So, please... join the fight to keep my car in one piece. Stop cleaning your houses. Leave your dirty dishes in the sink. Let your kids scatter their toys about. Forget about vacuuming. Accumulate piles of bills on your desk. Stop doing so much dang laundry.
Many of you have already donated nobly and generously to this worthy cause, but there is still more to be done! I hereby pledge to not make my bed for a least a week and leave my clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor at night in order to spare my car another humiliating trip to the body shop!
Who is with me?!
"Yup. You just can't keep anything nice."
I was discussing this with my boss, who was a physicist in a former life, and he informed me that my dad's pithy statement was actually a simplification of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. "The universe, as a whole, tends toward disorder," he told me, with the glee of a professor expounding the laws of the physics to a dewy-eyed freshman. "You're always going to have to expend energy to keep that particular structure of molecules perfectly ordered."
Apparently, my shiny new car is offending the universe by being so pristine. Bummer.
Then I got to thinking. Maybe the disorder that's being inflicted on my vehicle is due to too much organization elsewhere in the universe. Maybe there are places and things in the universe that are organized so rigidly and precisely that the universe has no choice but to continually put dents in my car, just to compensate.
So, please... join the fight to keep my car in one piece. Stop cleaning your houses. Leave your dirty dishes in the sink. Let your kids scatter their toys about. Forget about vacuuming. Accumulate piles of bills on your desk. Stop doing so much dang laundry.
Many of you have already donated nobly and generously to this worthy cause, but there is still more to be done! I hereby pledge to not make my bed for a least a week and leave my clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor at night in order to spare my car another humiliating trip to the body shop!
Who is with me?!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Stuck in the dragon's toilet bowl
Brett and I took my excellent niece and nephew to Raging Waters at Cal Expo on Saturday. Brett's mom also came with us, which was awesome because the kids aren't even her grandkids and she could have spent the day hanging out by her own pool for free. My six-year-old niece was just tall enough to go on all the waterslides. And she did. All of them. There was nothing too scary for this little girl. After each slide, I kept expecting her to emerge at the bottom, spluttering and coughing and crying and demanding to go back to the wave pool with her brother.
She never did though. She'd shoot out the end of the slide breathless and exhilarated and ready for more. It kind of made the rest of us look bad, actually. (And by the rest of us, I just mean me.)
Toward the end of the day, the lines were short even for the most popular slides so we thought we'd hit a few more of her favorites before the park closed. Brett had been squiring her around to the super scary slides but he insisted I take her back to the Dragon's Den so I could ride it with her.
Dragon's Den is the newest slide at Raging Waters and I'd seen the ads for it online. It's a waterslide with a unique twist. After an initial plunge into a dark and twisty tube, the riders (on a two-person innertube) are shot out into a large basin. Jets of water coming from the bottom and sides propel the innertube around and around the basin and eventually into another slide which leads to the splashdown pool.
Looks like fun. Not too scary. No freefalling. No airtime. Plus, I get to ride with my niece. All systems are go.
We load onto the innertube, Jess in front, me in back. We go hurtling down the slide. There's speed and screaming and splashing. Suddenly, we are in the Dragon's Den, shooting around and around the sides of the basin. Mist sprays. The Dragon growls. Jess giggles.
The basin is ingeniously designed so that the flow of the water and the angle of the sides will push the riders toward the opening to the second half of the slide as the initial momentum decreases. We pass this opening two, three, four times as we swirl around in the Dragon's Giant Toilet Bowl.
On our next pass around, it is clear that it is our final lap. We are now going slow enough to get caught in the raging torrent at the opening of the second slide. Actually, it almost seems like we are going a little too slow. Actually, we are loosing speed rapidly. Actually, we are grinding to a stop. Actually, we are stuck now on the exact opposite side of the basin from where we need to be. Even with all the water and slippery fiberglass, we're not moving. At all.
It seems as though the combination of an innertube which was a little flat from the day's use along with my big butt in back and Jess's tiny butt in front was enough to create sufficient drag in an area which had very little water flowing across to act as a breaking mechanism. Right in the middle of the ride.
As much as I wished another rider would come shooting out into the basin and knock us loose, I knew that would not happen. There was no one else in line behind us. Also, due to an accident years ago which involved several high school students piling into a slide and causing it to collapse, Raging Waters now staffs the top and the bottom of each slide. The guy at the top will only let the next rider go when he receives the signal from the bottom that the first rider is clear.
We sat there for a moment, stunned. I realized I would have to dislodge us before the staff sent someone to look for us. Jess leaned forward and I lifted my soggy butt as high off the slide as possible. I pushed us forward with my fingertips. We moved a fraction of an inch. I gave another superhuman push with all my fingertip strength. We moved enough to get back into the water flow. A little more wriggling and butt-scooching and we were finally on our way again.
I told Brett about our unique experience and blamed it mostly on the fact that the innertube was slightly flat. "Well, when we went on it the first time, the guy told us we needed to try to keep our butts up the whole time."
Funny, he didn't mention that to us. Of course I can see why he might warn my tiny-butted niece and my average-butted husband when they rode, but I guess he felt a Rubenesque lady like myself would just know to not let her butt drag.
Maybe they should add that to their warning signs:
You should not ride this ride if you:
1. Have back trouble
2. Have heart trouble
3. Are pregnant
4. HAVE A BIG BUTT
She never did though. She'd shoot out the end of the slide breathless and exhilarated and ready for more. It kind of made the rest of us look bad, actually. (And by the rest of us, I just mean me.)
Toward the end of the day, the lines were short even for the most popular slides so we thought we'd hit a few more of her favorites before the park closed. Brett had been squiring her around to the super scary slides but he insisted I take her back to the Dragon's Den so I could ride it with her.
Dragon's Den is the newest slide at Raging Waters and I'd seen the ads for it online. It's a waterslide with a unique twist. After an initial plunge into a dark and twisty tube, the riders (on a two-person innertube) are shot out into a large basin. Jets of water coming from the bottom and sides propel the innertube around and around the basin and eventually into another slide which leads to the splashdown pool.
Looks like fun. Not too scary. No freefalling. No airtime. Plus, I get to ride with my niece. All systems are go.
We load onto the innertube, Jess in front, me in back. We go hurtling down the slide. There's speed and screaming and splashing. Suddenly, we are in the Dragon's Den, shooting around and around the sides of the basin. Mist sprays. The Dragon growls. Jess giggles.
The basin is ingeniously designed so that the flow of the water and the angle of the sides will push the riders toward the opening to the second half of the slide as the initial momentum decreases. We pass this opening two, three, four times as we swirl around in the Dragon's Giant Toilet Bowl.
On our next pass around, it is clear that it is our final lap. We are now going slow enough to get caught in the raging torrent at the opening of the second slide. Actually, it almost seems like we are going a little too slow. Actually, we are loosing speed rapidly. Actually, we are grinding to a stop. Actually, we are stuck now on the exact opposite side of the basin from where we need to be. Even with all the water and slippery fiberglass, we're not moving. At all.
It seems as though the combination of an innertube which was a little flat from the day's use along with my big butt in back and Jess's tiny butt in front was enough to create sufficient drag in an area which had very little water flowing across to act as a breaking mechanism. Right in the middle of the ride.
As much as I wished another rider would come shooting out into the basin and knock us loose, I knew that would not happen. There was no one else in line behind us. Also, due to an accident years ago which involved several high school students piling into a slide and causing it to collapse, Raging Waters now staffs the top and the bottom of each slide. The guy at the top will only let the next rider go when he receives the signal from the bottom that the first rider is clear.
We sat there for a moment, stunned. I realized I would have to dislodge us before the staff sent someone to look for us. Jess leaned forward and I lifted my soggy butt as high off the slide as possible. I pushed us forward with my fingertips. We moved a fraction of an inch. I gave another superhuman push with all my fingertip strength. We moved enough to get back into the water flow. A little more wriggling and butt-scooching and we were finally on our way again.
I told Brett about our unique experience and blamed it mostly on the fact that the innertube was slightly flat. "Well, when we went on it the first time, the guy told us we needed to try to keep our butts up the whole time."
Funny, he didn't mention that to us. Of course I can see why he might warn my tiny-butted niece and my average-butted husband when they rode, but I guess he felt a Rubenesque lady like myself would just know to not let her butt drag.
Maybe they should add that to their warning signs:
You should not ride this ride if you:
1. Have back trouble
2. Have heart trouble
3. Are pregnant
4. HAVE A BIG BUTT
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)