Stretching
It started with a stretch. One of those awesome, full-body, arms-over-the-head, funny-face, knees-slight-bent, first-stretch-of-the-day kind of stretches.
Have you ever had a stretch interrupted by a jabbing finger or ten in your armpit? I hate that. Like, this could have been the Best Stretch Ever, but now I lost it because you thought it would be cute to tickle me. The same way you think it's cute to poke your finger in my mouth when I yawn. (It's not cute, BTW.)
Man, I hate that.
But that's not what happened with this stretch.
(He's never up this early, you see.)
I had just disentangled myself from Olive's gangly adolescent puppy legs, just gotten out of bed, just turned off my alarm, just stepped into the bathroom for my shower, just stretched. A perfect Monday-morning stretch, if you will.
When a teeny, tiny muscle in my right shoulder drew too taught and snapped, sproing!-ing like a comic book guitar string breaking and curling over the end of the neck. I stopped enjoying it, stopped stretching, and my right arm stopped moving.
And that's how Olive and I ended up lying on the couch watching 80s movies all day long.
It was pretty awesome.
2009
3 Love Notes
That sucks! I was wondering why you were home yesterday. Hope you're feeling better!
So, exactly how do you call that one into work? "I was stretching and now simply can't be bothered to come into the office."
It was more like, "I need to spend the entire day watching movies while my dog is cute. So I'm calling in sick."
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