So, picture this.
My driveway’s looooong, and yesterday the UPS guy left a rather large package next to the gate, which looked long and skinny from the distance, but wasn’t, which had me saying as I walked up the drive, “I don’t need no stinkin’ hand truck.”
I get to the box. It’s big. I think, “It’s only a hundred fifty feet. I’m not gonna go all the way back for that little wagon now.”
A third of the way down the driveway, I set it on the ground huffing, gather my breath and shout for the 6-year-old whizzing by on her Tyko trike. We set the box on the trike and get maybe 20 feet, kicking the wheel all the while to keep it going straight, when the plastic body of the trike bends at the middle, suspending the wheels.
I set the damn thing on my foot. Lift foot, scoot. Lift foot, scoot. 10 feet to go and mom comes out. “How come you didn’t ask for help?”
Grumbling, I let her grab one end and between us we wrestle it to the garage. Then I lean back and stretch—and ouch!
Now, my back’s tight and achy. I took a Metha-something pain pill, laid on my couch and didn’t give a crap about anything. I think I watched three TIVO’d episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, but I can’t tell you much about what I saw, except I’m ready to bitch-slap the Asian chick. Oh, and isn’t OWEN HAWT?! She so doesn’t deserve him.
This morning, I’m moaning, not because I still hurt. The pill relaxed the pain away, but now I have a ton of catchup to do.