Yes, just keep telling myself that, I said to myself. What's a little pain? Look at what Thor had to endure. No----wait---- maybe I'm thinking about his silly voice. Hmm. Oh, well, I did once have a Thor some, but I digress (when don't I?) What? Who, me? Oh. OK, I've just been told to get this post back on track or go home for the day (which doesn't sound like such a bad choice, actually.) But, whatever.
The doggies are a bit better, improving veeeeerrrrryyyyyy sllllooooowwwwwwllllllyyyy. And I'm doing the whole nine yards - soaks, analgesics, creams, massage, Acme safes from a great height. I've even forced myself to watch golf on TV - not quite as numbing as watching paint dry, but close. Really close. And really trying to keep the pain meds at an extreme minimum - don't like they way they make me suddenly enjoy watching Oprah reruns (shudder).
On other fronts, I recently made the acquaintance of a new clubbie - three months old, now. Dos piedes clubbo (bilateral, if you must know!) Cute (redundant when speaking of babies, unless you are George Castanza, I suppose.) The Mommy was freaked when she first got the news (is it just me, or do sonograms make you long for the Dark Ages when you had to wait for the actual arrival? It is? Oh.) But I reassured her to not worry, her kid would grow up to be the president of something anyway, which given how badly we treat presidents these days may not be much reassurance. I also told her to buy shares in some guy named Maddoff way back when, but thankfully, she didn't listen.
I was glad to see she'd chosen a Ponsetti approach - I just love those things at Christmas time, don't you? And the kid really looks good in a pot, besides. Seriously, he's cute. Really! I did want to grab him and run for the border, but then I remembered that word that should strike terror in the hearts of all do-gooders - diapers. So, sorry to say, the kid will just have to make do with what he's got - loving parents, well-trained Doc Martins, and a martini when he turns twenty.
On me. Yep - I put it in writing.
The doggies are a bit better, improving veeeeerrrrryyyyyy sllllooooowwwwwwllllllyyyy. And I'm doing the whole nine yards - soaks, analgesics, creams, massage, Acme safes from a great height. I've even forced myself to watch golf on TV - not quite as numbing as watching paint dry, but close. Really close. And really trying to keep the pain meds at an extreme minimum - don't like they way they make me suddenly enjoy watching Oprah reruns (shudder).
On other fronts, I recently made the acquaintance of a new clubbie - three months old, now. Dos piedes clubbo (bilateral, if you must know!) Cute (redundant when speaking of babies, unless you are George Castanza, I suppose.) The Mommy was freaked when she first got the news (is it just me, or do sonograms make you long for the Dark Ages when you had to wait for the actual arrival? It is? Oh.) But I reassured her to not worry, her kid would grow up to be the president of something anyway, which given how badly we treat presidents these days may not be much reassurance. I also told her to buy shares in some guy named Maddoff way back when, but thankfully, she didn't listen.
I was glad to see she'd chosen a Ponsetti approach - I just love those things at Christmas time, don't you? And the kid really looks good in a pot, besides. Seriously, he's cute. Really! I did want to grab him and run for the border, but then I remembered that word that should strike terror in the hearts of all do-gooders - diapers. So, sorry to say, the kid will just have to make do with what he's got - loving parents, well-trained Doc Martins, and a martini when he turns twenty.
On me. Yep - I put it in writing.
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