Idiot Girl Bounces Again

I’ve shared about my rebellious hip and how it’s affecting my life (two Aleve every morning). Even though Patti told me to keep running, I can’t. For most of my life the fact that I didn’t run wasn’t an issue. In fact, if someone had told me last year that I wouldn’t ever run again, I would have shrugged and said, “So? What’s your point?”

But things have changed. I’ve changed. I want to run. When I walked today, walked my two little miles, I felt like running. My hip said, “Girl! Are you some kinda masochist? Cause this ain’t gonna happen!” All the while she was shakin’ her finger in my face and giving me that look. Yes, apparently my hip hails from somewhere in the projects which would explain… Well never mind. Let’s not go THERE.

Anyway, I’m not running. Want to, but shouldn’t. I don’t want to do any permanent damage. Oldness is sucky.

Instead, I went and bought some new, heavier weights and a fitness ball. (Now, remember, when you say FITNESS BALL you must say in your best MONSTER TRUCK voice.) Yes, that’s right, a fitness ball (FITNESS BALL! FITNESS BALL!). Otherwise known as a balance ball or an exercise ball. The last time I saw one of these it had a handle and my wee babies use to bounce around the house on it. That was before they learned that they could sling shot it down the hall and knock each other over…but that’s another story.



I was really excited about the fitness ball (insert echo here). As soon as The Dude and the Brood left for the coast today, I tore the box open and happily hugged my new best friend. The one who was going to whip, I mean bounce, my fanny into shape. I could just see us now; the hours of fun we’d have, the tight thighs, strong abs, and content smile that would eventually take the place of what I now call my body.

It lay there in the box. All I had to do was inflate the fitness ball (echo) and I’d be just moments away from a new body.

I tossed the instructions aside and pulled out the blue tubing, slipped the white inflater spout on the end, grabbed the ball and tried to insert it into the opening.



It didn’t fit

I tried again

Hmmm…I looked at all the parts. Hmmm…doesn’t fit….Hmmm….

“Well, Idiot Girl, you get what you pay for. If you’d just spent eight more dollars you’d have rock hard abs by now!” Mutter, mutter, mutter.

I took out the small compressor we use for the air mattress. It has three attachments, surely one would fit.

Nope

I went back to the original attachment and tried shoving it into the opening. Growling, I pinched the end of the attachment, hoping I could somehow jam it in.

No way was it going to fit

I tried using tweezers, a handy girl’s secret weapon – good for plucking and for squeezing pieces of cheap plastic into a completely different forms.

This went on for some time, maybe five – ten minutes

I’m mad. Really mad. Because now I have to try to find my receipt in the garbage can and then take this worthless piece of junk back to the store, and exchange it for a more expensive ball with a attachment that actually fits the darn thing.

GRRRRRR!

I attempted to refold the deflated ball and place it inside the box. Sure. I am the same woman who has never been able to put anything and I mean anything back into its original box, bag, or satchel. Massive eye roll.

At this point, it’s been nearly twenty minutes. I’m mad, I’m hungry, and I haven’t even worked out yet. I grabbed the instruction manual and was just getting ready to stuff it into the already bursting box when I noticed a diagram outlining the parts that were included in the fitness ball kit.

In black and white I realized just how stupid I am. That white part, the place where I’d been attempting to jam the inflater hose…yeah…it’s the plug.



Brilliant