My Girth

You know how every house has one of those things that always seems to be in your way?  At home, my parents have a stairway going down to their basement.  There is a railing across it and at the end (between the entry way and the living room), there is a square "topper" just at elbow level.  Random sounds of pain come from that area of the house whenever someone is in a hurry or not paying attention.  My favorite was when I would be sitting in the big chair by the fireplace and dad would walk in the front door.  He would be talking on the phone or coming into the livingroom and BAM.  Every time, EVERYTIME he would throw his had back, scrunch his face, grab his arm and breathe in and out really fast.  It made me laugh.  EVERYTIME.

It usually isn't as funny when it happens to you.  Meet the handle on my bedroom door...aka: The perm-a-bruise.  We have a love hate thing goin' on.  I love that he lets me enter and exit my room freely.  I hate that he loves by arms.  The part just below my elbow on the top side (of both arms since sometimes it is when I am coming, and sometimes it is when I am going).  At least once a day we make contact.  Sometimes I get mad, sometimes I laugh.

I've lived here an entire month.  You'd think that my body would understand its mass (or girth if you will) in comparison to its surroundings by now.  But nope.  Everyday.  EVERYDAY.  Either I'm stupid or it's dumb.  Or maybe I swing my arms like a flailing freek when I walk and just didn't realize until now.

Shall I make a metaphore for life?  Um.  I don't think I will.  You do it.