The tension in the room was a 9 out of 10. You could practically taste my poor life decision by choosing the whip.
“You’re not doing it right,” he shouted.
My jaw clenched.
“Look, I don’t work well under pressure.”
“Pft,” he spat as he criss crossed applesauced his arms, feeding into my insecurity.
I had to show him.
I had to show him that I wasn’t a quitter.
I wiped the sweat from my hands on the blanket and gripped it.
Like a caveman, I worked that stick as if I was going to make some fire.
I must have looked fucking awesome in that moment.
My left thumb navigated up and down as my index finger pulled the trigger over and over.
He put his hand on my wrist to slow me down then jumped in excitement.
“You beat In-tha-anna Jones level ! You beat it Momma! I’m pretty very proud of you,” Chunky shouted.
We worked hours, no days on that stupid level and finally, we conquered it.
I have callouses to prove it.
“Let’s do the next part,” Chunky demanded.
I closed my eyes and could see the room spinning.
“How about tomorrow?”
“Pleassse?” working his pout lip with expertise. I can’t resist it.
I we both looked at each other and then at the clock.
“It’s 500 thirty,” my genius child said.
“I’m not sure what planet you’re on but it’s actually 6:45.”
Shawn’s never home this early from volleyball.
Heavy feet started to make their way down the stairs. I knew immediately that my worst fears had come true.
The Burger King.
Who decided that this face was a good idea to drum up hamburger sales? For the record, Burger King gives me the diarrhea.
The thuds got closer and closer.
I saw the foot first.
Me: You are such a jerk.
Chunky: Daddy! Momma killed the In-tha-anna Jones guy!
Shawn: It’s my ankle. Don’t worry about it. A little ice and I’ll be good to go.
Me: Let me see.
Shawn carefully slid his shoe off and removed his sock.
Chunky: Dad she killed him. The green hat guy! Oh. That looks very broken.
His foot looked like a giant hairy sausage.
Me: You know we have to get that checked out.
Shawn: It’s fine. You’ll ice it and wrap it and I’ll be all good tomorrow.
I could see him shudder.
Shawn hasn’t seen Dr.P advised him to get a rectal.
He’s sensitive about his poop shoot.
Shawn: You know, I probably just need ice. Dr.P is obviously busy we should just..
Dr.P: Hello guys what izzz zee problem? (She’s french and that’s what I think she would sound like on paper.)
Shawn pointed at his foot and she smiled for some creepy reason.
Dr.P: Yup. Dat izzz a problem.
She poked around the hair on Shawn’s foot and concluded that it might be broken.
Dr.P: I will orderz you zee boot. I will look at zhee x-ray and will call if I zee zomething broke.
Shawn: A boot?
Dr.P: Yez. A boot. You will wear zis boot all day. You can wear it at night az well to keep it zupported.
Shawn: Do I have to wear it when I’m having sex?
Another awkward moment brought to you by this asshole:
Because we live in Canada, we won’t know if it is broken for another week…at approximately 30 fourteen 2 hundred hours according to Chunky.
That kid is going places.
Special nod goes to Lady Gaga for inspiring the title of this post with her song Dancing In the Dark. I would also like to send her my condolences for shredding her leg and having to cancel the concert I was supposed to attend. It was a “Hey Kimbers, I’m glad that you chose to get help instead of killing yourself” present from my Mom.
I bought fake eyelashes and glittery pants for you.
Now I have to wear them for my equally crippled husband…
In the dark.