Had to stay home from work today due to this weird crick in the neck I’ve experienced for the last couple of days. Hurts like hell and is highly annoying. Annoying enough, in fact, that I even thought about going to see a doctor about it.†
(Turns out that lying on your back in the one position that doesn’t make you squeal like a pig gets fairly boring pretty quick. Yes, I was surprised, too.)
Nevertheless, despite my writhing in agony, my wife has to work late today, so I still have to pick up Andrea from day care. Pick her up and bring her home, then start fixing dinner while wearing my neat-o-rama beige foam neck brace.
Andrea sees the neck brace: “Why are you wearing that thing?”
“Because my neck hurts.”
“Oh. Why does your neck hurt?”
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe I slept on it wrong.”
Andrea thinks for a minute. “Maybe you got old.”
†One day I’ll blog the reasons from my childhood that make me detest going to doctors with any kind of condition that doesn’t show up on an X-ray. But not today.
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