Do you know the problem I have dealing with stage 4 pancreatic cancer being the 66 yrs old, perpetually high, father of a 6 yr old Love-child and husband of Wonder Woman?
Picking up trash when you walk.
That's what!
Over the past year I've almost cleaned a patch of road from discarded water bottles, Sonic wrappers, tampons and baby diapers.
Bending over is exercise right?
Sarah and I believe that and have avoided getting me a "Grabber" or "Gopher" or whatever you call those sticks with pinchers at the end used by professional sanitation workers and old people.
I'm neither so don't need one but a water bottle tossed months ago rests a mere 4 feet in the woods, partially covered in brush, which I have to step into to reach.
I do okay reaching in and grab the filthy piece of plastic.
Coming out my right foot's tangled in the underbrush and I twist as I fall, splattering on the sidewalk, scrapping both hands and landing on my back.
I can still cuss with the best of them, not only taking the Lord's name in vain but anybody else's I can think of too.
Lainey jumps in my lap, repeatedly licks my face before jerking me upright and drags me home.
I don't want to tell Sarah but when I do, she takes it in stride, makes sure I'm okay and doesn't mention it again.
I sure do love her all over again for it.
My back hurts and my hands are scraped.
I say a prayer thanking Jesus for Pot.
After a rough night where I don't make it through dinner out with Sarah's parents who are visiting and crash in bed with chills.
Completely out of the ordinary, Che wakes me up at 5 am, standing in front of her Sarah saying, "Mom? Mom?"
Jolting out of bed, I grab our daughter, rush into the Living Room as she asks, "Are you feeling better Da?" while hugging me tightly.
In no time at all, it's time for Lainey to take me for our walk, so I grab a bag and we, ever so slowly, walk and pick up trash.
"Let's do a reenactment picture," I tell our dog.
Lainey jerks as I snap the photo as though to say, "Will you stop screwing up my walks!"
