Friday, April 15, 2011

Droppin' Sh** Bombs in the Cultural Hall



by Luke Warmer (bio)

Pop! A week ago today, I came down from a routine jumpshot and collapsed on the cultural hall floor and cussed a mighty and bellowing cuss - the injury seemed to have momentarily deactivated my usually adroit cuss-censor. (A moment later the missionaries came out of the adjoining Relief Society room with well-trained stink-eyes and investigators in tow. Blush.)

Goodbye un-ruptured Achilles Tendon, you will be missed.

I'm thirty-three and work a desk job, but the moment I step on a court I forget all about my sedentary reality. In my head I become seventeen. My body disagrees with my head on this age issue. So my body - always the resolute arguer - settles things by completely rupturing my largest tendon. (C'mon body; we both know there were plenty of ways you could have proven your point without sending me to the DMV for a handicap parking tag.)

Like most Momos I've been having dramatic debates between my mind and body since... oh let's see... about the onset of puberty. It's probably safe to assume that my body was still angry about losing one-too-many of those hormonal arguments during my teenage years and was waiting in the wings for a chance to win a debate in melo-dramatic fashion.

Thus begin the chronicles of our hero, (referring to myself in the third person for dramatic effect) hobbling around on crutches and gearing up for a year of grueling rehab.

Has anyone else got wrecked in church-activities? Did your cuss-censors hold-up, or were they glitchy like mine? What is the most awkward place you've experienced cuss-censor failure (think Ralphy in
A Christmas Story)?

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