Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Saturday, September 17, 2011

The Unbreakable Val Thevictorian

I had a little mishap last night at 10:10. I retired from my computer with the intent of watching a little big-screen TV. Hick and The Pony had already turned in for the evening. Genius was not yet home from a birthday bash at his ex-girlfriend's house.

The first thing on my agenda was to return my baggie of melted knee-ice to the freezer compartment of the basement mini-fridge. You remember the knee ice, don't you? To chill the joint mice in my crunchy, bursitisy knee? I shuffled through the narrow walkway between the gun case that harbors the cheap guns that Hick is OK with burglars taking in hopes that they won't look for the good stuff, and the mini-fridge under the stairs. Stacked beside the gun case, across from the mini-fridge, are approximately thirteen empty cardboard soda cases. That's because The Pony, our soda stocker, has been remiss in his handling of cardboard trash since last Christmas. You'd think that once we took the Christmas tree down in July, he would have gotten on the stick and stuck those boxes in a giant trash bag and hauled them to the bard field for burning. Because that's how we do it here in the hinterlands. We burn our cardboard. I figure it's no worse for the environment than adding it to our dumpster and requiring Waste Management to spend extra gas money and landfill space on it.

I had just passed the mini-fridge, and was about to reach for the door when it happened. My red-Croc-encased foot hit a wrinkle in the throw rug that The Pony must have placed there for his own knee comfort during soda-stocking. The wrinkle snagged on a cardboard corner and brought my foot to an abrupt halt. Which was bad news for my body, which continued forward. I did not have time for my life to flash before my eyes. Only the thought: I can't fall; I'll get hurt.

But fall I did. Face first. Onto the tile-covered concrete basement floor. A blue vinyl beanbag sometimes used by The Pony or Genius to play X-Box games was to my left. I missed it completely. I landed on my knees and elbows. My forearms were fortunate to land on the braided toenail rug. That's a whole other story, the toenail rug. I think I posted it here early on.

Like a tree falling in an abandoned forest, I was bereft of people to hear my sound. Hick, with his breather strapped on his muzzle upstairs at the other end of the house, would never know that I was beached on the basement floor. The Pony, above and at the back of the house, covers his head when he hits the sack. Something about hearing and seeing strange things afoot after dark. I did not bother to shout, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" It would only waste my strength.

A quick mental inventory revealed that all systems were working. But I had plummeted right out of my Crocs. Yes. I'm one of those people who wear Crocs with socks. But not out in public. Therein lay the dilemma. I could not gain purchase on the slick tile floor with my socks. In addition, the toenail rug had scooted into a wrinkly series of mountains and valleys when I pitched forward and slid like a go-ahead run over home plate in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series. So when I tried to stand, the rug under my hands moved forward, and my sock feet slid backwards. Not at all conducive to rising, though a good abs workout if repeated.

I deduced that the only way to regain my footing was to crawl across the Toenail Rug Mountain Range to the base of Sofa Peak. In that location, my sock feet would find purchase in the foothills, and my hands could provide leverage from the summit of Sofa Peak. Once righted, I hobbled to the recliner to recuperate.

I am pleased to report that my bones are not as brittle as those of The Pony, who has broken both elbows in two separate falls at school. One on a tile hallway floor, and the other on concrete steps. Reports of my osteoporosis have been greatly exaggerated. The accident could have had far worse results. I did not knock myself unconscious. Nor did I knock out my teeth, break my nose, shatter a wrist, or dislocate a shoulder. Perhaps my thick padding saved me from anything more than painful contusions to both patellae. A surveillance video might have depicted a toppling Stay Puft Marshmallow woman. Thank goodness Hick has not gone the hidden camera route.

When he returned from a morning visit to Grandma's house, and an afternoon bowling league, The Pony gathered up all the cardboard. He felt great sadness over his unintentional role in the incident, though I assured him his helpful habits far outweigh any harm that never came from my tumble. Genius also appeared to exhibit sympathy when informed of the felling of his maternal unit. Hick offered hugs, while stating matter-of-factly that indeed, he would never hear me if such a thing were to happen again. My mom was beside herself worrying over what might have happened. When she picked up The Pony this morning, she insisted on seeing the damage. Only then did she stop offering to take me to the hospital to be checked out.

I am moving slowly on my knotty knees, a bit like a potato with toothpick legs. The bag of knee-ice water was uninjured, even though it was crushed under my left forearm in the accident. It spent the night in the mini-fridge freezer and lives to soothe again.


Linda O'Connell said...

Ouch, double ouch, so glad you got to the couch. Hope you heal soon. I once shot off of a treadmill and landed on my butt and wondered, where am I? What happened? Huh?

Sioux said...

This summer as I was getting ready for the new flood of students, I fell off a stool, resutling in some bruises and sore limbs.

No, it wasn't a bar stool. What? No, I was not sitting on the stool, I was STANDING on it. Yes, I now know that someone as old and fat and uncoordinated as I am should not stand on a stool.

I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt. It's not pleasant, getting old...

Carol said...

OMG, that sounds painful. I always have burns and bruises on my arms and legs attesting to my....carelessness, let's call it.
I wear socks with my crocs too. Even with the sandals...when I am at home. Not with sandals in public. And with all the other crocs - I have many - all the time.
Ok, I'll stop now. Hope you're recuperating.

Val Thevictorian said...

Seriously. You need your own reality show. "Life with Linda" could be the working title. The opening should be a montage of the treadmill incident, you demanding a mammogram at the bookmobile, stalking people through a sliding door as they mind their own business in their own room at a beach motel, chasing a robber out of a grocery store, and the basement shower debacle. The last would be tastefully filmed, of course, from the neck up.

Ah, the best perk about teaching high school is that a strapping sapling of a boy will volunteer to perform all manner of tasks for which you are vertically challenged. Such as taking down the clock for adjustment as we enter and leave Daylight Savings Time.

I refuse to risk life and limb by climbing at school. Not even the carrot-on-a-stick of a worker's comp claim and really effective painkillers can entice me.

Oh, and I'm making you a regular on Linda's new reality show. In the pilot, you will snatch a chair out from under her in a public venue. In a simple misunderstanding, of course. You will be the Rhoda to her Mary. The J-Wow to her Snooki.

See? I'm giving you a new career. I don't even hold it against you for um...kind of insinuating that I'm getting old.

It's so good to hear from another sock/Croc aficionado! Because who needs a bunch of sweaty-footed fashionistas roaming around to make us look frumpy? Not me, that's for sure. I can do that very well on my own.

I'm movin' kind of slow, like Uncle Joe at Petticoat Junction, but I'm ambulating. My knots are turning to bruises, and my arms are aching more today. That must mean that my legs are aching less. Thanks for the concern. I think I'll pull through. :)

BECKY said...

OMG, Val....I haven't thought of Petticoat Junction in years! Is it on any of the old TV stations??
And, your fall...sounds like something I'd do. I'm very clumsy and always bump into furniture...in my own home..and get bruises, and I do fall, but not too often! My last one was missing that last darn step....It was a Doozy! Hope you have no pain!

Tammy said...

So glad you survived your adventure! I too shot off the back of a treadmill once. And landed on a finger, which is now permanently bent.

Val Thevictorian said...

No, I haven't seen it. But a few months ago, I was watching Green Acres on TVLand, and Oliver Wendell Douglas went to Sam Drucker's store. And that's Uncle Joe's favorite hang-out.

I'm not in pain. I'm in stiffness. It could have been much worse.

I suppose a finger breaks your fall about as well as a beanbag chair that you don't land on.

Becky and Tammy,
The Magic 8 Ball tells me All Signs Point To Monkey Business. Here you two are, commenting now, after I proposed a reality show for Linda. Are you sure you're not trying to horn in on Linda's 15 minutes of fame?

First Becky flatters me with affirmation of my ancient TV show references. Then she promises how great she would be at banging up her flesh for color TV. What's next, and offer to take along walk off a short pier?

As for Tammy...you might want to try a different stunt for your audition. It won't do to upstage Miss Linda with the treadmill faux pas.

:) :) :) :) :) :) :)

labbie1 said...

I could show montages of the canoe that put the hole in the side of my 5th wheel...

Seriously--So glad you weren't hurt worse. I'm sure it didn't help the mice situation though!

Val Thevictorian said...

The mice have lodged a complaint.