Ipads Cannot Fly

Posted by mwallach on November 27, 2011 in Crazy Follows Me Everywhere |

Dear That’s Life,

While two things one can always count on are death and taxes, I would like to add something else to that list: gravity. If I stand at my desk and drop a pencil, ten out of ten times, the pencil will fall. Tried and true, gravity is dependable and can be relied upon. With no interest in space travel, no plans to leave earth’s atmosphere, and unable to sleep standing up, it is safe to say that gravity will always play a permanent role in my life.

A self-proclaimed gym rat, getting in a daily workout is a priority. From the standpoint of my mental health, if I have not made it to the gym or missed a day for some reason, it is readily apparent in my behavior attitude and demeanor. Frankly, I become very crabby, snapping at anyone and everything over nothing, pent up energy inside my body with no chance of release. Those who exercise regularly can empathize.

The dress still hanging in my closet, I have diligently been sticking to diet and exercise regimen, determined to reach my goal. Even while on vacation, I did not allow myself all-you-can-eat nights at my favorite restaurants. My Achilles heel is chocolate chip cookies, especially when they are soft. Because I am a martyr, I will make do with a crunchy one. Put a batch of soft ones in front of me, however, and watch them disappear.

Attending an event while we were away, my daughter served as my wingman, keeping to my side as I perused the food, ensuring I did not go astray. Playing the role of adult and partial baby-sitter, she let me have one cookie, but then made me stop when I went for another. “Mommy!” she yelled at me. “Remember the dress!” Becoming more like an albatross and less like a goal, I put the cookie back. Smiling in approval, she took my hand. “No sweets, Mommy,” she said. “No sweets.”

Sweets, however, are something I cannot and will not do without. Dark chocolate, in specific, has clearly been overlooked by our federal government as a food group. In this case, I was determined to have my cake and eat it, too. Having a piece of chocolate every now and again should not preclude me from getting into my dress. If that meant, however, that the exercise portion of my plan needed to be tweaked, or intensified, then that’s life. So out came the running sneakers, for it was time to get back on the treadmill.

Running is the best form of exercise I know despite what it does to my knees. Upon the advice of my exercise guru, I run often but for short distances. Even if I have the energy to run further than five miles, I stop, having no interest in injuring myself. The system was going just fine, until I managed an injury after only two miles. Here’s where gravity comes in.

Over the past five years, I have used numerous column inches to regale readers with details of my latest stupid move. My talents know no limits, though even I assumed I had seen it all when I gracefully broke my toe and needed stitches. Before this week, the toe was in first place. That, however, has changed. That was before my escapades last Sunday at the gym, before I fell off the treadmill and before I shattered the ipad.

I cannot explain to you exactly how I managed to fall off the machine, though I imagine my foot must have hit the plastic runners alongside the belt as I ran. Somehow, I took a misstep and fell. Luckily, I did not roll backwards and hit the wall behind me, the likes of which I have seen in animated movies, all of which are plausible when I am in the picture. Instead, I somehow lost my footing and fell. In an effort to save myself, I mangled my finger and destroyed the ipad.

As a result of jarring the treadmill, the ipad flew like a Frisbee, landing flat on the floor. As I went to pick up the really expensive toy that had fallen face down, I commented, “This is not going to end well.” Unfortunately, I was right, for as I picked the ipad off the floor, tiny shards of glass fell, the remnants of the screen laying both on the linoleum titles and in my hand. Gravity had struck again, besides my own personal trip to the floor as a result of my grace. True to form, however, this was not the worst part of the experience. The problem was really that the ipad belonged to my husband. I began to prepare for what was sure to be one unfortunate conversation when I got home. As they say: this was not going to be pretty.

Luckily for me, I am not the adult in any relationship. My husband, accustomed to my antics, heard the entire story, and immediately looked at my finger. “Ice and ibuprofen,” he said, as the swelling on my finger increased, the shades of purple intensified. My hand was more important than any toy, regardless of price. A couple of minutes passed before he asked the most logical question, searching for some clarification. “How DID this happen exactly?” he asked. I retold the story, but he shook his head, needing to cut to the chase. Like any good lawyer, he wanted the bottom line.

“Did anything happen to the car or did you cause injury to anyone else?” he asked as if I was on the stand. “NO,” I said, bizarrely proud that in this case I managed only to hurt myself. “Okay, then,” he said, case closed. Having put it in perspective, with no liability and no looming insurance hike, this was not going to be as bad as I had imagined.

Always ready to take advantage of an opportunity, however, this may be the perfect time to tell him about the ticket I just got.

As Seen in the South Shore Standard Nov ’11


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