My ass hurts. That can mean a couple of different things. In my particular case at this moment, it means that I probably got lucky that I didn't break my goddam tailbone. A little over a week ago, I went swimming with a friend and his daughter and a small gang of his little girl's friends. It was a good time. The water was cold but the sun was hot, we were swimming in some secluded pond that seems like it'll feel like bath water by mid-July, it was one of the kids' surprise 9th birthday party. Not only that, but the kids had no idea that her folks had managed to cheaply purchase a couple of miniature horses. So this little girl's fixin to get a fuckin pony for her birthday.
There was a rope swing on the other side of the pond. I wasn't really feeling it, but some of the kids were wimping out when it came to getting fully submerged. If I would've known them better, I would've just tossed them in. But I wasn't trying to be an asshole. I'm actually quite the natural. Still, I wasn't gonna start chucking little girls who barely knew my name into a freezing cold pond. I made a deal with them though: If they all got in and got their hair wet, I'd jump off the goddam rope swing. They readily agreed. Now that I think about it, the birthday girl managed to not get in all the way. Little fucker…
Anyway, I swam to the other side and got a hold of the rope, whereupon I climbed up the snaggly hill to find what I assumed would be an obvious place from which to launch. There weren't any obvious places, but I found a nice, flat rock and took aim at the pond. Not like it was a little target, but if you went off to the left very much, you'd probably bash your head open on a rock and get eaten by cottonmouths or something. So I had my sights on the right. There were knots on the rope but I couldn't reach them from where I was standing. 'Whatever', said I. As I type this 8 or 9 days later, I'm still leaning from one cheek to the other.
So yeah, it turns out the knots on the rope were there for a fuckin reason. I jumped off of my launching pad and made it a good 7 or 8 feet down with gravity as my primary fuel when I bottomed out. Never did the term ¨bottomed out¨ seem more appropriate to me. That little bit of earth being my only obstacle before I made it to the pond, I smashed my ass real good (?) and then directly blumped into the goddam water. It hurt, but at least I could swim to shore. No big deal. I surfaced, my invisible tail between my legs, to hear the kids shouting for me to do it again. My buddy was on the other side of the pond grimacing and laughing and shaking his head. I managed to hobble up to a different launching pad and jump off the goddam rope again just to save face and to give the kids an encore and all that, but fuckin A. If the dirt I hit would've been rock or even hard, dry dirt I'm certain that I would've broken my tailbone.
I was supposed to be writing about something else but this whole my-ass-hurts thing is on my mind.
3 comments:
I really like your writing.
I really like your writing.
Thanks, yall.
Post a Comment