Since I previously reported that Mrs. Nitmos had been soundly defeated in her first match with the treadmill, I felt she was owed a public update. You’ll recall that in her first experience, she wound up jetting into the wall behind in a crumpled heap with my mp3 player bouncing to a rest several feet away. If you don’t recall this, we’ll wait while you click the link and refresh your memory.
After Mrs. Nitmos read this, she was highly amused. She got this weird grin on her face and just kept staring and staring at me and asking me things like “ever hear of Lorena Bobbitt?” (Answer: No. Is she a successful treadmiller?) and “have you ever been set on fire in your sleep?” To be honest, I didn’t find it quite as funny as my uneasy laugh conveyed. It was a bit unnerving really. Usually I find self-immolation hilarious too. Non-self immolation? Not as funny.
Sadly, she reminded me – after that last incident – that I forgot the single funniest part of the treadmill pwning: her pants had become tangled on the treadmill handlebar causing her to hang awkwardly off on one foot for a brief moment before the complete and total ejection. I will say again: where’s a closed circuit video camera when you need it?! And how could I have missed this part of the tale in its retelling? It sounds like the only thing missing was someone going whup whup whup nyuk nyuk nyuk during the event. Oh, wait, I was doing that.
She’s been back to the gym many times since then. Not once has she ended up slamming into the wall behind in a hilariously comedic tumble. In fact, I’m pretty proud of her. Without any goading from me, she’s even started running a few miles on the mill. She’s doing this all on her own. Sure I make little tsk tsk sounds and critique her stride, overall form, and hydration technique all the while staring at a stopwatch to measure pace but what else would you expect? Since starting several weeks back, she’s knocked several minutes off her per mile pace. Snot rocketing? A work in progress.
There’s even been talk of Mrs. Nitmos and I, along with some others, joining together to run the Detroit Marathon 5 person relay this fall. How cool would that be? I could once again display my majestic stride in a public forum. And Mrs. Nitmos would be safe from reverse mid stride ejection while on an immobile asphalt footing. A win-win.
Go, Mrs. Nitmos, go! You’re the next Lorena Bobbitt! (Am I referencing this correctly?)
Wanna Hear Something Gross?
Since the internet seems to be awash with mimicry, I thought I’d try out a new, completely unique feature called Wanna Hear Something Gross? Of course, by “hear” I mean “read”. You get that, right? This feature is sure to appear semi-regularly and completely without warning. Kinda like my spastic colon.
My kids are going to summer camps now that school is out. At the end of each camp, they get to swim at a public pool. Now, we’ve warned them many times not to touch anything with their exposed skin or we’ll cheese grater it off when they get home. The motto is You touch it, you lose it.
So, my daughter and I are sitting on the recliner last night reading another chapter in the Junie B. Jones series. She had just gotten out of the shower. Her hair is still a little wet but smells like fresh lilacs just as the shampoo promised. While reading, she reaches down and pulls a Band-Aid off the bottom of her foot. No big deal. Band-Aids are designed to come off. Except, we didn’t put one on her. She had no cut. This is the point where she remembers, hey, there was a Band-Aid next to the pool. I must have stepped on it. And there was blood on it.
After several minutes of dry heaving, I went for the cheese grater.
Have a great weekend!