I told you that St. Bob is recovering from a complete knee
replacement, right? Well, the whole
reason he had to have it was due to a skiing accident 20 years ago.
Turns out you should take your own skiis and
adjust your own bindings. Instead, we had rented skiis and the doofus (yes,
doofus) kid who tightened them for him gave it one or two cranks too many, and
Bob’s skiis wouldn’t release.
This wouldn’t
have been a problem, except for Doofus #2 on a snowboard, who cut Bob off and
caused him to fall. Two doofuses are one
too many, and Bob heard the snap! as
he went down, his ski going one way and his leg going the other.
I was at the
top of the hill resting (some would say oblivious), completely unaware of the situation. But soon I was heading toward a guy crumpled on
the snow who looked an awful lot like my husband. As I got closer I did the only sensible thing—I
screamed. And it wasn’t long before the
ski patrol zipped up to us to assess the situation.
Sure enough,
his knee was out of commission (turned out to be a torn minuscus). So the guys radioed for a toboggan, and began
filling out paperwork, right there on the slope.
“What do you
do for a living?” one guy asked.
“I play for
the 49ers,” Bob said. I just stared at
him. Seriously? You’re going the macho route so you won’t
look like a wimp? Good grief.
“Can you tell
me what happened?” the fellow said.
“Just write
O.F.T.T.H.,” Bob said. And when the
fellow didn’t understand Bob just sighed, “Old Fart Trying Too Hard.” Okay.
He’s back.
Snowed
in or snowed under, you need a good book. And you can do all your Christmas
shopping in one place—find all my books right here.
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