Some have suspected that the Captain took off for Memorial Day weekend. I mean, you can’t injure yourself all the time–you have to stay healthy some times.
But I’m driven. Driven to accomplish new levels of exciting pain at the most inopportune time.
This Memorial Day Weekend, my parents came over to help me construct a new fence in my backyard. My old white picket fence was a scary sight. The wood was rotting out even before I bought the place. I couldn’t see painting the thing because it was already coming apart–so I never did. That just accelerated the demise of the thing. I looked like twisted debris after a bombing run.
As you can tell, I was emotionally attached.
My dad, who is reveling in his new status as a retiree, decided a couple weeks ago to yank the fence out from its very moorings. As he tells the story, he did it with his bare hands. A garage full of tools I know aren’t mine, pointed to another version of the tale. You decide.
So on Memorial Day I got a call early on that my parents had just picked up a two-man post hole digger (that scary drill looking rig) and we’re doing the fence today.
This sounded like a lot of work to me. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be here. Not a very good attitude, but I specialize in bad attitudes as most of you know.
To add to the fun, my back yard is riddled with prehistoric petrified roots coming out of my trees–not the easiest stuff in the world to drill through. Half the holes we drilled were also in clay soil–that was really fun. It was so fun, in fact, we decided to drill an extra hole. Or that had something to do with a bad measurement. It was either for fun or a bad measurement. Something like that there.
Anyway, soon my backyard looked like the gopher from Caddyshack had taken up residence–which would explain partially the evil plots the squirrels have for me. I think this is all coming together at last.
Well, we were picking up a post to place into one of the holes and I was walking backwards and didn’t really see where I was stepping. Even though most of the yard was still in tact, my right foot–the one with the plantar fascitis issues–found a hole and went down pretty well the full three feet. My foot folded up to accommodate the smallness of the hole–thoughtful of that foot. I began howling out in pain, like a complete coward.
My dad, of course, suspects I’m faking. Now, don’t think poorly of Dad for that–he usually would have been right. I was kind of thinking to doing exactly that so I could supervise the rest of the afternoon. That’s more my speed.
But in this rare instance, I really was in pain. That isn’t to say I didn’t drama queen it a little. I mean, the opportunity was there. Would have been a shame not to.
I shook it off after a little bit and we continued to work and I have to admit. It’s a great fence! Looks really good. Once we get all these extra holes filled in, it would be a great place for a cookout.
Maybe before I fill in the holes, I can lure a squirrel or two into one.
Nah. Too much work.
Yours in anguish,
Captain Catastrophe