Check, Please!

Yesterday Handsome had a soccer game, and he did great! He was a force to be reckoned with on Defense, and while he was on Offense he scored his first goal ever. And he almost scored his second while he was at it! It was a great game, and afterward he didn't want to leave the field. The rest of his team all went home (or wherever, I really couldn't swear they went home, but they all left) and he and I stayed and kicked his ball around for a while. I played goalie and he shot on me, then we switched and I was shooting on him. I was kicking the ball at the goal from mid-field, sprinting after it, just playing like I was 20 years old again.

Until, of course, I started overheating from my anhidrosis. That slowed me down pretty quick. But for a while there Handsome and I were having a lot of fun.

Cut to this morning.

I awoke not feeling very well. I didn't wake up on my own, actually. My bladder was doing the biological equivalent of smacking me with a rubber truncheon and screaming Get up! Get up! Get up! in my ear. I sat up fast and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

At least, that is what I attempted to do. As soon as I tried to swing my legs like that, my left hip put a figurative hand on my chest; a large, muscular, very capable looking hand, the kind of hand that you find attached to the large, muscular, very capable men that loan sharks send out to express their displeasure over non-payment. My hip held me down with that hand. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" it asked, glaring at me from under a thick, lowered brow. 

"To the bathroom!" screamed my bladder, before I could say a word. "He's going to the bathroom! Now get out of the way, this is an emergency!"

My hip shook its proverbial head.

"He ain't going nowhere 'til he takes care of this!"

My hip was handing me a check, and it was one of those giant, oversize checks like the ones you see people getting when they win the Publisher's Clearinghouse, smiling and crying and holding the check as they shake Ed McMahon's hand. And I was crying, but not in a good way. This wasn't a check that was made out to me,  this was the kind that comes to the table after a big, expensive dinner, and I was the dufus reaching for his credit card.

"You remember yesterday, when he was all running around like an idiot?"

"Of course I remember," shouted my bladder. "But this is an-"

"Well all that acting like a kid again costs," went on my hip, as if my bladder wasn't shouting in its face. "It all costs big. And it's time the bill was paid!"

My bladder was screaming something back, but I wasn't listening. Pretty much forgotten by the two of them as they argued, I was quietly staggering toward the bathroom, dragging my left leg behind me since moving my hip cost me tremendous pain. I staggered as fast as I could, since as soon as I moved I realized that my bladder wasn't the only thing feeling tremendous pressure, and the only reason I hadn't heard from my bladder's neighbor was that it was concentrating all its energies on keeping it together. Figuratively and literally. I was just trying to get to the john before I wound up having to clean my room. With a hose.

I made it.

15 minutes later I made it again.

15 minutes after that I made it again. 

Every time, dragging that leg.

I didn't make it in to work today.

Reminder: Please check out the Coffin Hop, the button for which is in the upper right of the blog page. October 24th - 31st, it should be a lot of fun.

AND check out my website, the button for which is right below the one for the Coffin Hop. 

For more detailed information on either reminder, please see yesterday's blog entry.

Talk to you later!