Come Fly With Me

Log-rolling.

It’s big around here.

Huge. Massive. Bigger than the gulp of cappucino I just chugged and was forced to spew back into my mug. Oweee. My mouth is scalded.

But yeah, the log-rolling – which is actually pipe-rolling – is a big time recreational activity around here.

I like pipe-rolling, too. But only because inevitably, the punk on the pipe goes flying off.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Another reason I love pipe-rolling is because of this old saying…What goes up, must come down.

Heeheehahohahaho! Ha. Hee. Haha. Hoha. Sure hope she didn’t fracture her spinal ligature. Or her cocyx. Or anything vital.

But bless those little punks, they always hop back up.

Dang it, she’s always striding somewhere on those tall, lanky limbs of hers. I used to have tall, lanky limbs. But then I stopped growing. Vertically, anyway.

Let’s change the subject before I cry.

Here’s a happy subject: pipe-rolling! Ever seen it? You haven’t? Well here, take a look-see:

Max The Pale and Skinny is very laid back, cool and debonair about this whole thing. He’s much too cool to exuberantly hop up on there and wave his arms around. And to prove it, he’ll even bring his beverage with him!

I used to be pale. And skinny.

I’m still pale.

Let’s change the subject again before I cry. Again.

“This is so easy. Anyone could do it. Well, except maybe you, Abbie.”

Note, the look of glee on Tony’s face. “Hey Max…you just fell on your butt!”

Note, the flocking of the other two punks toward the recently, and oh-so-gracefully vacated pipe.

“Well,” Max figures, “As long as I’m down here, I might as well have a guzzle.”

I think more people should be like Max. When life topples you from your high-rollin’ position of ease and lands you flat on your fanny – with your iridescent cup still in your hand – kick back. Enjoy the scenery. Take a gulp or two.

And while you’re at it…give thanks for the spindly, gawky punks in your life.

They won’t be spindly and gawky for long.

Don’t Hate Me Because I Have Beautiful Feet

These unfortunate appendages…

…are my feet.

Aside from the massive slight gap between my big toe and all my other toes, I’d say I have relatively normal feet…right? Well, and maybe my toes are a little lengthy…

But I think I’ve diagnosed a real problem in the muscles and/or tendons of my feet. When I walk and put pressure on the front part of my foot, my big toe juts out at a strange and alien-like angle.

Observe:

Sometimes I call them cloven hooves.

And sometimes I put socks on and try to pretend that I’ve never had feet.

And sometimes…sometimes I pretend that my feet look like this.

Weird feet run in the family. My dad, both my brothers and I have the genetic mutation that causes weird feet. Somehow, the other three girls of the family have relatively normal feet, which I’ve just realized is highly unfair. I’ve decided to become bitter about that.

These here are Max’s gnarly old toes. And I couldn’t resist posting this particular picture because of the lone little foot strolling along in the upper left-hand corner.

Max has some massive feet. He’ll be growing into those for the next 20 years. I hope.

And as for that lone little foot in the corner up there? That belongs to Tony, who, btw, has warts on one foot. Just in case our strange-looking feet weren’t enough of a burden to bear, let’s throw in some warts, right?! But anyway, due to those warts, he always wears a sock on that foot so as not to spread the virus to the rest of us. He’s a considerate little fella.

But the weird thing is, lately, when he goes outside, he’s taken to putting on only one shoe, on that socked foot, instead of just taking off the sock and going barefoot.

Men. I’ll never understand ‘em. But I think I’ve got a while. Because as they say…

It’s not over till the skinny kid puts a baseball between his toes.

Oh…oh dear.

Looks like it’s over.

Yessir, it’s aaaaaaaaall over now.