Thanks, dude

So, the angst-y adolescent I mentioned earlier? Yes he is annoying as hell a lot of the time, but he has his good points too.

Yesterday the eighth grade went on a field trip to the public pool. Jay, goofing around with his friends, hurt his hip. Not so badly that he couldn’t bear weight on it, but bad enough that he had to be driven back to school by one of the teachers. In the evening we decided to take him to urgent care for an x-ray. This was a bit complicated because at the same time we were supposed to be going to our elementary school ice cream social. Now I am not exactly a social butterfly — curmudgeon is more like it — and let’s just say this event was not high on my list of things to look forward to, nor Hubby’s either, for that matter. Both of us wanted SO BAD to be the one to take Jay to the ER. Well, what can I say? He picked me. “It’s my oedipus complex,” he explained to his dad, absolutely deadpan.

I wish I could reproduce his entire hilarious narrative of the events that led up to his fall. Here’s his facebook update, which gives some insight:

Now I have to MANUALLY REPOSITION MY LEFT LEG every time I want to move it. Pros: The injury stemmed from me being a genius climber and introducing a crowd of twenty people to a whole new activity that entertained them for a while; also, I got lots of attention from some very nice and concerned people! Cons: I will most likely not be able to make it to the dance. I now walk at the speed of a tortoise.

And later he explained:

Well, you see, being the shining example of common sense that I am, I was doing a trick through the monkey bars and I fell out of the other side and onto the ground, landing on my left hip. I don’t think it’s broken, but it might be sprained. It doesn’t hurt TOO much—only when I move it in certain ways/put weight on it. This means that, for the moment, I have to walk around like a 70-year-old cowboy.

Best of all, though (ok, I know this is a proud mama anecdote, sorry) was him hobbling into the kitchen at the speed of a tortoise/like a 70-year-old cowboy and saying to me in his best Cary Elwes accent: “Drop. Your. Sword.”

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