It's true, the SJG is prone to viewing injuries. From time to time, I get a bit too carried away with whatever I'm viewing and manage to injure a part of my tender, petal-like anatomy. I refer you to my recent finger-crushing incident while viewing "The Night Of." I got too engrossed in HBO's did-he-or-didn't-he-do-it series, readjusted myself on the sofa during a big reveal, and crushed my middle fingie. Said fingie continues to flip me off whenever I wiggle it wrong. Not to worry. One day it will get better, or fall off, whichever comes first.
I love him so much, it hurts.
And then there's last night's viewing injury, still plaguing me this morning. I was so excited about the return of "Project Runway," so giddy with delight, that I stubbed my toe on the leg of the Lazy Boy during my ceremonial "Welcome Back, Tim Gunn" hora around the room. As I like to remind hubby, it takes so little to make me happy, assuming I don't hurt myself while expressing my TV-related glee or shock. In the throes of these inadvertent, klutzy boo-boos, it helps me to think of my sweet mom and the way she took action whenever I banged into an inanimate object as a kid. She'd lean down, knock-knock-knock on whatever I'd run into -- table corner, door, the list is too long to remember -- and say, "Baddy-o-baddy-o-baddy-o-baddy." And make it all better.
No comments:
Post a Comment