There was a priest by the name of Fr. Frank Kurtz who was the assistant principal of Queen of Angels Academy, the parochial school at which I taught, way back when. Fr. Kurtz told me that when he was in grade school he kept falling asleep in class, so his teacher, being funny, would start sentences by yelling his name, thus: “FRANK-ly, it’s a beautiful day,” and “FRANK-ly, I’m giving you a pop quiz now,” and “FRANK-ly, I think that’s enough study time.”
Would you like going to school every day just to have your teacher yell your name over and over? I know I would not like it. I’d like to be anywhere else.
I’d like to be anywhere else right now, too. I’d like to be in the bathroom brushing my teeth, rather than sitting here writing. Or in the garage on the elliptical, except that the angry toe I busted yesterday still hurts. Or even writing at my standing desk, except that I don’t have one yet.
You see, a while back, I took The Geeklet Six to the park. This particular park has several very tall slides, one of which I could not stop myself from sliding down. I had to do it. It was calling to me. It was an instinctual imperative or something.
Unfortunately, that slide was the kind that had speed-bumps in it. Long story short, my tailbone has been sore for months now.
Laugh if you must.
Someone told me once about an old gent they knew who said he wore his “Crown of Thorns” on his bottom. I know how he felt. I can’t sit without a pain in the butt.
SuperDad suggested buying one of those donut pillows that people use for hemorrhoids, but the idea is just too embarrassing. I can imagine the looks I’d get, and I don’t like them. I’d feel compelled to tell the clerk all about my bruised tailbone so he’d know I don’t have hemorrhoids. Then he’d glance at me, like, sure you don’t have hemorrhoids, fat lady with six kids. And I’d be all No really, I swear, and he’d smirk at me and I know I’d be terribly embarrassed for over-sharing and trying too hard to convince him I’m not hemorrhoidal, and then I’d blush. I hate blushing.
Meanwhile, the Geeklets would probably be asking inappropriate questions about hernia belts, wanting to buy boxes of gauze or rolls of tape, and jousting with the crutches.
Sigh. So I’d rather just live with a pain in the butt for now. Unless . . .
I wonder if SuperDad would care if people thought he was hemorrhoidal . . . ?