May 15, 2008
In the past, my friend Sarah has described me as a T-Rex. Not because of my occasional desire to stomp on chirping birds and claw my husband's midsection apart, the name is in reference to my strong legs and complete lack of upper body strength.
I wish I could demonstrate how weak my arms really are, because it's hard to describe it in words. Perhaps I'll have Jared shoot a movie of me trying to climb a tree or reposition the toaster oven on the counter, but in the meantime, I'll try to help you wrap your heads' around my wimpiness.
I--honest-to-goodness--have to stop, give myself a little pep-talk, and take a deep breath before I heft a gallon of milk out of the refrigerated case and into my shopping cart. You can only imagine how much I despise stores like Costco or Sam's Club where they strap three gallons of orange juice together and expect you to be thrilled that you're saving eighty cents. Most people say, "Ooh! What a deal!" I say, "I'd like to get my hands on those sick b*st*rds in the corporate office."
My upper-body woes have also forced me to have a difficult time with any sport or activity that involves climbing, hitting or paddling. I had a job working for a pirate company for a few summers. Basically I would dress up like an evil sea captain, kayak out to a dock, swing a plastic lobster around on a rope, let a bunch of kids douse me with water cannons, and fall to my fake shivery death. Let me tell you, the burlap underpants were NOT the worst part of that summer gig. The paddling was.
Yesterday afternoon, when I came home from work, Jared surprised me by taking me fishing in the canoe. Between loading up the car (just the life jackets, Jared did the boat by himself), paddling (just a couple of yards, Jared did the rest), and reeling in a six ounce fish, I was really really tired.
We pulled up to the dock at the same moment as a kayaker. And do you know what that superman did? He hoisted himself onto the dock, flipped his boat above his head, and walked all the way home. Just watching his crazy maneuvers forced me to mutter a few pseudo curse words under my breath. As I watched him fade into the horizon and the word "crazyarsemeathead" trickled from my lips, the sound of Jared's sweet voiced snapped me back into reality.
Our canoe was strapped securely to the roof rack, our 40-pounder was strapped securely into his carseat and Jared was like, "C'mon babe. Let's go home." And I was all, "Okay, but let's stop for an ice cream cone on the way. I deserve something for helping out so much."