Remember those super duper awesome rollerblades I found the other day?
Yeah, well, I hate those fucking things.
I should have left them buried in the abyss that is my daughter’s closet. Or better yet, burned them on sight.
You see, it was a spectacular first day of Spring in Miami. The sun was shining. The weather was….not hot. So we decided to throw caution to the wind and head to the beach. On a school night.
We live on the edge like that.
As we packed up the car to rousing (and elusive) chants of “you’re the best parents EVER!” we decided to throw in the skates. Because the children had been begging to skate on the beach. Never mind that there’s an ocean to swim in and sandcastles to make and balls to toss around.
But, when we got to the beach, because we’re from these parts, we could not bring ourselves to walk into the frigid waters. So, after we dug holes, lay out and chased balls for a few hours, I decided to go for the holy grail of parenting and skate with the kids along the beach.
Save for some tricky patches of sand, all was going swimmingly until I made a pitstop at the restroom. As I was making my way back to the family, I lost my bearings and my legs rolled out from under me, leaving me with only one choice: try to absorb as much of the impact with my hands and avoid cracking my skull open.
Luckily, my head did not touch the ground. But my ass sure did.
I’m typing this through gritted teeth because my hands are all scraped up and bruised. The compounded force of landing on my hands and my butt has left my arms and back incredibly sore. Hell, even my ribs hurt.
And, to make matters worse, I’m waddling around like I had anal intercourse with 5 very well-endowed men. At the same time.
On the bright side, at least I didn’t break a hip or end up in traction. Which, at my age, is a depressing, but all-too-real concern.
Anybody in the market for some vintage, slightly scuffed up roller blades? Leave a comment below!