Friday, January 15, 2010

Jump! Might as Well Jump!

Another day, another deep-water aerobics class where I find myself straddling a pool noodle while rocking back and forth, thinking: damn, some of those old ladies sure can grind it! When the closest you get to rockin' the sexy-cowboy position involves a pool noodle and the company of dozens of old ladies you are either a kinky, kinky mofo or else need to take out an E-harmony profile. (Which I will not do, because getting rejected from E-harmony would just be the last straw. If E-harmony declines to match me with singles on the deepest levels of compatibility--yes, I do watch too much tv, thank you for asking--you might as well drop off a shipment of 10 cats and a do-your-own-macrame kit because I would be down for the count in the boxing-ring of love).

I will say this about deep-water aerobics, though: I do like grooving to '80s music. In fact, I have been humming that "jump! Might as well jump!" song throughout my day, even though I couldn't jump if you put a lifetime supply for chai lattes a few inches above my reach. Still, if I could dance with 90% of my body hidden safely under water, my entire life would be like being in a musical because you could not stop my feet from flying.

Lately, my mom has taken to telling me about how she read that every minute you sit on your ass, you take a certain number of hours off your life. (Yeah, I should probably cash in my chips now). In this spirit, I decided to take Sashimi (my sister's dog) for a walk. I think I've mentioned that Sashimi is less a "dog" and more a "fur child." She is a little ball of fluff and her main motivation for going on walks is that random strangers lavish attention on her. The sidewalk is her runway! The park is her stage! The strip of grass outside our house is her fancy, fancy bathroom! (Now, granted, if someone would comment on my beauty every time I stepped out of the house, I would be walking more than the postman).

Walking a dog when you're using a cane is like living in an episode of Mr. Bean. The dog (complete with hot-pink leash) does not want to walk on the side of you without the cane. She wants to be on the cane-side, running circles around the cane, causing it to get tangled up and forcing you to do little twisting, half-pirouette movements to keep from reenacting that scene in "101 Dalmatians" where the two humans meet for the first time and wind up tied up in a compromising situation thanks to their dogs' leashes. Except, you know, instead of being tangled up with my future husband thanks to the wacky hijinxs of our dogs, I was tangled up in my cane with my feet sinking in water and mud.

It doesn't help that Sashimi dislikes going to the bathroom in the rain and lead me on a hunt for 30 minutes trying to find a place to drop a special princess present on the grass. She finally found the perfect spot (it looked remarkably like the other 8 million spots she rejected) and then pranced off like the pranciest prancer who ever pranced (while I struggled with being able to bend low enough to pick up after her)....and went back to tying me up with her leash. I don't know who did this "sitting on your ass makes you dead" study, but that person should go walking with a half-detached ass and a prancy, prancy dog.

1 comment:

  1. this reminds me of the first two weeks I had Gertie, when she was scared of feet, wheels, and pretty much anything that moved. Her response: Sit. Don't Move. Then JUMP SUDDENLY to the other side of the human! It's amazing she survived this stage of her puppyhood without broken bones.

    Now she's only scared of feet... which confirms for me that I have nothing to fear from the infamous East Van puppy-snatchers... they'd get nowhere with her on a leash unless they were similarly wheelchair-using.