You would think that more people on this earth would realize that they enter it helpless and exit it the same way and are damn lucky if they don't spend a good portion of the intervening years nearly so. But as I limp and faint around, I find that there is a pissant attitude of superiority among the temporarily able-bodied that does make me need to bitchslap them occasionally. I managed not to hit anyone who acted alarmed for themselves when I would commence to faint and sit down suddenly last winter, probably because I was too weak to lift my hand to them. But wearing my Kinesio tape on my feet and legs has been a mixed blessing at best. The good thing is, it is remarkable how it can turn off some of the muscle spasms in my right foot and lower leg; think of having a charley-horse for two years and putting some stretchy tape on there, waiting twenty minutes, and realizing it has stopped. Ahhhhhh. I was really excited and also made extremely aware of just how goddamn painful the big spasm that stretches from the top of my sciatic nerve to my ankle is, so I taped that one, too. It helps some but it's not the light-switch fix, I guess because that muscle is so large and deep. Still, I'm not limping when I start to walk for the first time in almost two years.
Point of this is, two people at the health club have been rudely curious this week about my tape and I have been holding back....some. First there was this pet pomeranian junyaleegah pipsqueak woman in the dressing room. Her inquiries were at first polite, and I answered them, then she started hinting how disfiguring the blue tape was on my leg. I glared down at her puffy styled blonde hair and stated firmly, "I think it looks better than the limp." She cackled off with her feathers a little ruffled; junyahleegahs would rather die than have their legs taped apparently.
The next day, I was giving my lane in the pool to this guy who was, honestly, square. Really. He was about five two and about five feet wide; his neck-fat was wider than his chin. His moobs were as big as my boobs. His arms didn't go down, but out, because his fat distribution was all the way around him, not just in front. Now, I'm 25 pounds overweight, but he is carrying around enough stored calories to nourish Darfur for the whole dry season. What does this champion specimen say to me? "Hey, does that racing stripe on your leg make you swim faster?"
What.
I heard him fine but I smiled and made him repeat it.
Twice.
I kept smiling and nodding.
Here is what I did not say:
"Yeah, motherfucker, it makes me swim like Michael Phillips. Does that flotation device you are wearing make you the Guardian like Kevin Costner?"
Here is what I did say:
"Oh, yeah. Faster. Ummm-hmmm."
Honestly. What is wrong with people.
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Here's a line: "It holds the artificial part of my leg on."
ReplyDeleteHe probably thought you were hot.
I would have made up a pathetic tale of injuries at the hands of a drunken driver for the junyaleegah.
Breaking both leg bones at the ankle at age 33 gave me a new outlook on life. To get to my 2nd floor office, I had to scoot up the stairs on my butt for four weeks. I had to get a cane the first day the cast was off because I could barely get across the intersection on a green and cars would crowd me, almost hit me.
He was fat and stupid, not visually impaired. But I will use the artificial leg line, I like it a lot.
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