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Wednesday, February 13, 2008

that groundhog was wrong

Our garage door, it went kaplooey. Its spring went sprung and so I raced around this morning so I could get back in time for the garage door repairman, who arrived 15 minutes after the allotted 'you must be here' grounded time. Naturally.

Drat.

Before the spring-a-thon, I met with a physical therapist this morning for my neck. It refuses to budge from its fetal position. I talked all tough when I saw my dear friend Jen yesterday about how I am willing to do whatever I need to do to get all better and essentially sock this injury/arthritis in the gut, earning me the title, Brave Little Toaster.

I guess I figured I'd march in like Rocky and battle it out, like I did when I hurt my knee. But instead, the therapist stretched and massaged my sore neck until it felt like butter. On toast. Or a BLT.

(Now I've lost all of you, with my mixed pop culture references.)

I'd say something clever right about NOW, if I could think of a fitting way to end such a post, but I've got nothing.


(And so concludes Mama Milton's 'I don't have a picture for Wordless Wednesday' Wild Ride. The repairman shot me a strange look when I tried to rope him into posing for my post.)

6 comments:

stephanie said...

Um, did you really try to rope him into a pose? Because that would explain the strange look, I'm guessing.

I'll send my daughter over to take painfully naughty pictures of your kids' stuffed animals so you'll be ready for next Wordless Wednesday.

katydidnot said...

double drat!

Kimberly said...

Bwahah! Stephanie's comment got me giggling so darn hard!

Mrs. G. said...

I'm glad you got temporary relief with the massage.

flutter said...

aww, frig.

Beck said...

My repairman ALWAYS looks at me funny when I get out the ropes and the camera...