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Little House on the Prairie

Posted by on May 17, 2009


Sunday. Supposedly a day of rest. But to help out a bit, I thought I’d load some clothes into the Jeep and head to the laundromat to at least pitch in with my share. After that I got the dumbbells out of the garage along with the workout ball as I needed to get back on the weights now that my job has turned from sediment to sedentary. As I was going through my series of repetitions I kept noticing Robin giving me “that look”. You know what I’m talking about, fellas. It’s the one that says, “what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I continued doing my sets while periodically driving over to the laundry to move washer clothes into the dryer. When I was halfway through my routine, Robin asked that I only help her with one thing. It was then that I knew it was her way of saying she’d really like me to help her clean. So I started to fold clothes, read-up the desk and do a bit of dusting. Then she came out with the truth stating that she just loves it when I help her clean. Now I knew I was done. Cleaning is her hobby. But hobbies probably are best when not shared between spouses. But I relented and by noon the laundry was done, ,folded and the entire RV was spit-shined. It was then that she remarked we were out of some vital supplies and needed to trek into town. I mean the town thirty kilometers east of our humble abode. OMG. I wondering if I’m a glutton for punishment or just the nicest guy in the world. And there it was. The little house on the prairie. As the afternoon sun started to fade, the red hut in the middle of nowhere brought back mental reruns of the Ingalls family. But now it was my turn. I told Robin that this Ma and Pa were going golfing as my day of chores had ended. We started out great. A bogey, then a couple of pars, followed by two more bogeys. But I was hitting the ball well and felt great. Then there it was. Number #6. 6The fairway that we spent days upon days removing mud and silt. It proved my nemesis once again. I could feel it as the tee shot spun out of control. The click in my back was louder than usual. And so it was. The round ended shortly thereafter as I tried two more swings but to no avail. I couldn’t put pressure on my right leg therefore getting no oomph into the ball. By this time my spine was looking serpentine. Robin had to drive the cart back to the clubhouse as I knew trying to do so would be a futile exercise. So now here I am, nursing a gin and tonic, accompanied by a couple of Aleve. Thank goodness tomorrow is another day of rest. Just like today!

One Response to Little House on the Prairie

  1. Debbie

    Sounds like the #6 is not a good one for you and your back, I think you should avoid it like the plague. I’m sure your Rig would win the prize for the cleanest and brightest in the park, I know my Seester, and it would be the one place you would want to park your Margarita Glass at!

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