Monday, December 7, 2009

Finally . . . a legitimate lame excuse.

If you've been here for any length of time, say, three or four days, you know that I am taking a Pilates class at my local YMCA. You would know that because I complain about it regularly, or at least twice a week, which is how often we meet. I'm thankful it's only twice-weekly torture—it takes me that long to recover.

Well for the last few days, the outside of my right foot has been pretty sore. It even hurts when I'm in bed and the blankets smush it down, but mostly I just ignore it. Friday it was really bothering me and I mentioned it to Elijah while we were out doing errands. His response was, "Ask Dad," as if Dad were the local orthopedic surgeon or something. I scoffed and said, "How would he know what's wrong with my foot?"

So that night when we were all in the kitchen waiting for supper to be ready, Ben and I had this conversation:

Me: The outside of my foot has really been hurting the last few days. I have no idea what I did to it. 

Ben: Is it right up there by your little toe?

Me (surprised): Yeah. How did you know that?

Ben: It's the BOSU.

Me: What? How do you know?

Ben: It's from trying to balance your whole body on one foot on an unstable surface. You strained the outside of your foot. I never use those things.

Huh. Dr. Ben has spoken. So I'm overjoyed sorry to say I won't be doing any more balancing on the BOSU (not that I ever could do it in the first place). Darn the luck.

In other riveting news, I have finally figured out how to get pictures from my camera to my computer with relative ease. Maybe that will limit the number of grainy, cell-phone images you have to endure. I don't feel too bad about my technical ignorance. I figure everybody has a gift and geek knowledge just isn't mine. That's what I have kids for. At some point I will run out of teenagers (here's where Ben will offer to have his, ahem, surgery reversed and produce another child and I will gracefully decline by saying, "Not on your life, mister."), but hopefully by then I will have learned enough to get by.

On the other hand, if there were any good use for a spiffy-looking Excel spreadsheet or PowerPoint presentation in my real life, I'd win a prize, 'cause I know how to do that. I satisfy my urge to create fancy things by sending my weekly time sheet to my boss in four coordinating colors with nifty fonts and stunning, 3-D charts. She's probably unimpressed; she just wants the totals. Someday my limited skills will come in handy. I just know it.

Be thankful ~


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