It's our first day back in the city, and due to a series of bad decisions, 60% of my upper body is in dire pain.
First, I met with my personal trainer, who I thought was a winsome 23-year-old who might take it easy on me. It turns out she is a soulless paindroid with a titanium heart and an unquenchable lust for agony.
Second, I spent three hours canoeing in the Pine Barrens. The Berts were appreciative passengers, but it took double the effort to offset Robert's furious attempts to steer us into every box turtle we saw.
And third, I owe the fine people at Wham-O an apology. I'm sorry I doubted you; the box clearly said that Slip-'N-Slides are not meant for people over 12.
(Somewhat relatedly, to the not-fine people at Hasbro and Mattel: Shame on you for suing Scrabulous off of Facebook right before I was about to win my 100th game. I can't imagine why my prowess was such a threat to you, but you needn't worry. There's no way I'll be staying up to all hours playing that steaming dungnugget of a replacement app. I might actually have to get some writing done. Or even sleep, for Jeff's sake.)
It's a bad time not to be able to feel my shoulders, because this is moving week. We've been running all sorts of errands, and the Berts have been offering all sorts of decorative insights. The only thing I've vetoed is the Go Diego Go shower curtain, which is just as well. The idea of raising my arms to attach all those shower clips has me thinking about reverting to baths for the next several weeks.