I recently had the following conversation:
Me: “Ugh my arms are like spaghetti. I think I need some Ibuprofen.”
Suburbanite: “So what’s the…”
Me: “Yeah and I’ll wash the Ibuprofen down with strong coffee….that’ll do it.”
Suburbanite: “Er… what caused the…”
Me: “You suppose Tylenol at the same time? Think that’s ok?”
Suburbanite: “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?”
Me: “Oh nothing exciting. I was cutting wood like a madman yesterday.”
Suburbanite: “The curse of free wood? Again?”
Me: “Yeah! What’s better than free firewood?”
Suburbanite: “Free in the sense that it’s a dead tree standing in the forest?”
Me: “Huh?”
Suburbanite: “And you have to cut down the tree, and buck the trunk and limbs into chunks, and load the chunks on your trailer, and haul the trailer home, and split the chunks, and stack them…”
Me: “You make it sound like a bad deal…”
Suburbanite: “Oh no…you’re the king of free dead trees.”
Me: “That’s what I think!”
Suburbanite: “So you’re going to take it easy today?”
Me: “Nah. I’ve got this karate thing. I’ve been sucking out. I need to get with it. I think I’ll put in an extra hour tonight after work.”
Suburbanite: “When your arms are like spaghetti?”
Me: “I’ll admit I look pretty foolish out there. Bad back. Sore arms. The works. I’m twice the age of most of ‘em. I look like a big hairy train wreck. But hey it’s not too bad.”
Suburbanite: “…”
Me: “I figure I’ll toughen up eventually. Just have to ‘man up’ a bit that’s all.”
Suburbanite: “You know that phrase; ‘That which does not kill me makes me stronger’?”
Me (brimming with pride): “Yeah!”
Suburbanite: “Well it’s not true. You’re gonna’ die moron!”
Me: “Uh…”
Suburbanite: “Seriously. Can’t you sit on your ass and watch TV like everyone else? Modern technology isn’t all bad. Kick back in an easy chair instead of alternating between Paul Bunyan and a Mall Ninja.”
Me: “I’ll have to ponder that.”
Suburbanite: “You do that. Tonight I’ll be drinking a cold one while you’re getting pounded in Ninja class.”
Me: “It’s not Ninja. Sheesh…just a little exercise.”
Suburbanite: “Involving fists?”
Me: “Well there’s that.”
Suburbanite: “And moving a ton of wood…that’s not exercise?”
Me: “Well it heats the house too.”
Suburbanite: “I love my electrically heated house. Always warm. No exercise needed. All praise Exxon.”
Me: “Mother told me there would be days like this.”
Suburbanite: “Have fun homesteading Bubba.”
Mr. Suburbanite is going to die of fatty degeneration of the heart sometime in his late 50’s, assuming that he doesn’t go from apoplexy over an electric bill. You, on the other hand, are clearly going to be one of those tough-as-aged-walnut little old guys I run into at county fairs (mostly looking over livestock, or machinery, or the teenyboppers on the fairway).
First, Mr. Suburb just doesn’t UNDERSTAND.
Og over at Neanderpundit offered this recipe, & it works great: 1k mg of Tylenol (two tablets) and 600 mg of ibuprofen.
Happy trails.
i was listening to this song today
http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-like-men-in-trucks-lyrics-melinda-schneider.html
and i thought “hell YES” … your post invokes the same response.