Thursday, May 19, 2005

Training for the Darwin Awards

I am about to make a large group of people happy. That would be AJ-Is-A-Complete-Dorkus-Malorkus Chapter 216. I am their god and occasionally I bring my particular quirky religion to the masses.

When I say "the masses", I mean "my cul-de-sac".

In this episode, I'm at Best-Neighbor-Ever's house, discussing how she is going to take my son along to amuse her middle son while they attend the oldest son's baseball game. Oldest son is decked out in his baseball finery and hanging about the garage while the younger maggots dart about and stickify everything (as it IS a scientifically proven fact that all children under the age of five have permanently sticky hands - multiplied to the exponent of pi during popsicle season).

Plans made and goodbyes said, I grab both my kids scooters and turn to head toward home. Lazy and not terribly forward thinking being that I am, the thought pops into my wee little brain, "Hey! Why CARRY these two scooters home when I can just RIDE them?"

"Cool!" my slow processing brain thinks back to itself.

I put one foot on N's red & black Scooter of Death and the other foot on M's pink & purple Disney princess festooned Scooter of Doom and point myself down BNE's slightly sloped driveway. IMMEDIATELY Death Scooter and Doom Scooter head for opposite compass points. Apparently they had some sort of scooter tiff earlier and were taking their aggressions out on me by plainly displaying that they were not on speaking terms. Fortunately my wit (yeah, I said wit - singular - as it is blatantly obvious that I do not posses wits - plural) returned in time to hop briskly off and between the two whilst they amscrayed.

"Heh heh", I say suavely, realizing that I have narrowly avoided disaster right in front of two grown women and about eight impressionable children, "Maaaaaaybe I shouldn't do that."

"I'll try it", BNE's nine-year old little slugger says.

"Okay!" I say (that's right people, you should NOT, under any circumstances, trust me with your children)

Then I hear BNE's voice echoing out of her garage, "No, you don't! Your coach will KILL you if you break a leg!"

"Oh yeah. Um, well, that probably wasn't the best idea" I mutter while I shrug at the kids like "What are ya gonna do about these grown-ups?".

Now, little Casey-at-Bat is looking slightly dejected at the loss of my attempt to maim him, so I gamely say "I'll race you!"

"All right!" he crows and, questionably, gloms on to the Disney Princess Scooter of Doom.

I queue up next to him on the Scooter of Death and yell "GO!!"

He takes off like greased lightning and I wobble down the driveway. Now this is where I should point out that this is a scooter for a four old - my foot covers the footboard completely and the handle bars are about the height of the my kneecaps. I KNOW I can't yo-yo-homey maneuver this thing so I try to do the next best thing - clown my way down the driveway.

You can see this coming a mile away, can't you.

That's right. My invitation to join the Harlem Scootertrotters will NOT be arriving any time soon. I somehow managed to cross my right foot OVER my left foot (which was on the scooter) and wound up rolling like a gangly squawking tumbleweed down into the cul-de-sac (I want to say "ass over teakettle" but I'm never REALLY sure where the teakettle fits into the picture) with the scooter bouncing into me in several KGB sanctioned hurty spots. Not only am I probably swearing (it happened so fast, it's really only conjecture at this point) but I am wearing cotton gym shorts and no underwear so I am also probably giving the entire ensemble an exxxtra special treat.

When I stop rolling, I pop up like the proverbial Jack spluttering, "OKAY!" and trying to look cool in that way that only cats can after they have done something completely asstarded. I'm sure I didn't fool anyone.

"Well, I'll just go in now!" I chirp brightly as I TRY not to limp towards my sanctuary, scooter in tow.

Damage sustained - giant swolen egg of a bruise WITH layer of skin missing - top of left shin, giant matching bruise (skin intact) on back of right shin (that, amazingly, I did not even discover until two days later), scraping and bruising of right shoulder (and I SLEEP on that side, damn it!), cuts and bruises to inside of right knee and, worst of all, scrapes on my right wrist.

Why were the wrist scrapes worst of all?

Because I didn't REALIZE I had bleeding scrapes on my wrist until I had emptied HALF a load of lights (you know, hanging things, turning things right-side-out) and therefore spread my weepy gooze all over god knows what.

I know for SURE there was swearing going on when I figured THAT out.