So the other day, Cris tried to carry me. Why? Well, to keep a story short, he saw one of our friends “need to do it” for his injured wife. So of course we wondered, if I ever got hurt would he be able to do the same?
First, to all those who are still romanticizing about being carried around like a damsel in distress, let me just tell you… there comes a time when your body just may not be as feathery light as your fantasy body is. So when Cris picked me up, not only is my body more like a lead feather, but my knees clacked like claves and my butt muscles seared with tobasco-like burning. How supremely demoralizing!
And again, the “you’re-no-longer-a-college-student'” monster slapped me in the face to remind me that mortality is to be respected. And I was the one being carried no less, I don’t even want to imagine what it’d be like for Cris. Why has this happened to me? I blame “outreach” (see picture below)
Yes, it was Outpour’s labor day picnic! Food and ice blocking on one of the first nice days of the year. We met new folks, laughed at feeling like a kid again, and rode down a grassy hill on blocks of ice barely large enough to sit on. An activity that my 20-something body loved in the past but my current 30-something body reels from. A coworker recently sent me this picture…
Note that my destiny is gorilla lady. I joked once to one of my Caucasian friends that we Asians have discovered the fountain of youth. Sad that we’ve only discovered a way to stave off the process but in the end when we mutate into a short gorilla lady. Who knew that destiny could be glimpsed while riding a block of ice down a grassy hill. Lord have mercy!
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