Little Smoot has been working hard again to make sure that I feel like a complete and total geezer.All summer she has been bugging us to buy this thing called a RipStick. She got a taste of it at the home of an acquaintance earlier in the year, and she made it her mission to obtain one through whatever means necessary. We told her she could buy one if she saved her own money, a ploy that bought us several RipStick-free months of time since $70 is not something she can save up quickly.
Anyway, she finally bought one after her recent birthday windfall. A RipStick is much like a skateboard, except that it has only two wheels and you can jiggle your body back and forth in such a way to propel it.
Notice that I used the word "you" in the previous paragraph. "I" had much more trouble with this thing when Little Smoot gave me the opportunity to try it. We went to her school playground for a bit the other day, and she was getting the hang of it pretty well. I figured it couldn't be that hard, so I gave it a brief attempt.
I hopped onto this thing, and instantly decided that there were better things a 40-year-old person should be doing. And then it occurred to me that I'm now 41, not 40, so this thing should definitely be out of the question for a person of my chronological condition. When I got on it, all sense of balance went out the window, and I could tell that if I continued to attempt it, I'd better darned well know where my insurance card is.
Little Smoot is getting the hang of this thing fairly well, despite the fact that she did end up dripping with some degree of blood by the time we gave up. The worst thing is that I really, really hate it when young kids can do something -- anything -- that I can't do. So I know that while Little Smoot is in school, I'll undoubtedly be trying to figure this stupid thing out by practicing in the garage until I get the hang of it.
Hopefully there will be Internet access in the hospital so I can blog about it.
3 comments:
I see you already used the term "dipstick" so I won't go any further.
Just take a right turn at the end of your driveway, and head down that big ol' hill. You'll get the hang of it in no time!
The broken elbow, or even the ensuing surgery won't be so bad. Therapy, though, ooooooo therapy. Just ask my husband who, as recently as last March, and is, incidentally only slightly older than you, felt the need to learn to skateboard in our basement. . . .
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