Happy Flookie Bootie
It’s my birthday! I may as well admit it; I’m typing so I’m still breathing, so odds are I’m gonna have one of those at least once this year.
It really is a beautiful day, 60 degrees this morning when I woke, gorgeous sunrise and nothing I had to do, not even a race I needed to work which hasn’t been the case recently. Here’s a pic of the beautiful morning:
This photo was taken with an iPhone by a total amateur.
I have no work I have to do, and I have nothing I’m training for, so I can – call me crazy – go for a run with … wait for it … NO GOAL.
Right. Breathe in … breathe out … breathe in … breathe out … I know you’re both taken aback, I realize the idea of just going for a run like you were a kid with no responsibilities on a Saturday morning is completely out of character for any real runner and could cost me my card.
But, then, I’m just wild and crazy and there’s no stopping me, as we’ve discussed before so you know what?
Nanner Nanner Boo-Boo.
That’s What. This photo was not taken by me with my iPhone. Thank you, icanhascheezburger.com
Now that we’ve settled that like three responsible adults, as I said, I decided to go for a run. Just a run. That’s it. Not being a total rebel nor completely insane I did not, however, run nekkid. Garmin and HR monitor are our friend. Once I did not wear Garmin and HR monitor and while I was gone Garmin committed GPS suicide. The next run Garmin refused to charge or find the Mothership. I cannot bear that type of responsibility. At this point in my life the goal is shedding responsibility, not taking on more.
Becky batshitcrazy-biker-babe Elkins met me and biked alongside for a few miles. We ran into (not literally, of course, because that would be rude, right?) April “Honeybadger” Henderson and Donnie “Deacon” Baldock who were at, oh, I don’t know, 87 miles or so. Becky had to peel off back home so I hung with Donnie and April.
Here in my fascinating narration of the un-run we will stop. You two go watch the Honeybadger vid linked to April’s name, above.
It’s ok – go on – I can wait.
“Eew, that’s so nasty.”
“Look, it’s eating larvae, that’s disgusting. “
(Just entertaining myself here, go ahead, watch the vid.)
Done? OK cool. That’s the end of that part of the story, I wanted you to see the honeybadger vid, the rest was just verbiage to get there. Otherwise this story would be one word long and probably everyone would be grateful. To bad, it’s not.
In a vain attempt to distract Donnie and April (running animal beasts), and since we’d about exhausted honeybadger quotes, I thought if they heard a story they would be fascinated and slow down, and also because something reminded me of the story but now I cannot remember what, I told them the story of the day our dog Maxie bit my butt.
Actually he didn’t bite it. I mean, he did bite it, but it wasn’t really a bite, he was barking.
For some reason I happened to be chasing the twins through the house – for FUN! – they were running in circles laughing and I was chasing behind them laughing and Maxie was running in circles behind me barking. Unfortunately I had to stop suddenly and Maxie didn’t brake, instead running right into my backside while barking and on the downstroke of the bark he bit my butt.
It broke the skin and bruised, he had a strong jaw, and I had to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic and get it checked. It was a bit embarrassing but what can you do? You have a dog bite on your butt. It’s not like you can say, oh, look, I think I broke my finger. They’re pretty much going to have to check things out, if you know what I mean, and they don’t believe you when you say you broke your finger but you actually didn’t.
Two or three weeks later I got a phone call. The insurance company. “I understand you were bitten by a dog.”
“Oh, gawd. Um, yeah…”
“I need to determine if there will be any suits filed in the incident.”
“Right. No. It’s OK.”
“Have you made any type of settlement then?”
“Uhhh. Mmmmm…” so I had to tell another stranger about the dog bark biting my butt, that it happened in my house, to me, and was my fault, so probably I wasn’t suing myself.
“…so you see,” I concluded, “it was just a fluke.”
Immediately Donnie and April composed a birthday song named after me entitled “Fluke Bootie.” It goes like this:
FLUKEY BOOTY Fluke fluke fluke bootAY
FLOOOOOOKIE Flookie Flook BOOTIE
After that you let the band riff for a while.
The moral here, Boy and Girl, is never tell anyone your dog bit your butt but it was a fluke.