Sometime between the beginning of August and the Labor Day Weekend, we had a board go missing on our pier. I vaguely remember noticing a board that seemed loose and thought I should go get a hammer to hammer in the nails that had popped up. But somewhere between the pier and the shed I was distracted, more than likely by a squirrel, and never fixed the board. (yes I realize that this paragraph exhibits some of the most horrendous sentence structure know to the free world. I don't care)
But one obviously missing board is no problem, right?
I've had this recurring dream my whole life about walking on a pier when the boards start falling off and the pier starts getting taller and taller and taller and I'm trying to navigate large 5 board gaps. I'm always small- as in my 5 year old self, not as in thin and wiry model small- and I'm always struggling to leap the great divides. You can go ahead and try to shrink me, but I already know it all means I'm crazy I'm a lunatic not all my puppies are barking I need more wine.
Anyway, if my 5 year old self can manage a 5 board gap (even in my dreams) certainly my 35 year old self can manage a 1 board gap. Riiiight.
As luck would have it, our neighbor came over to chat while I had Bailey out on the pier for a swim. Mistaking our friendly neighbor for an evil mustachioed killer, Bailey went racing towards the house, fur standing on end and barking her most vicious sounding bark (which is actually pretty intimidating). Bailey is very well trained. I have trained her to NOT listen to me and NOT come when she is called so I have to run my fat behind all over the neighborhood trying to catch her. She's my personal trainer.
So I'm walking briskly down the pier calling Bailey's name sharply in between cajoling her with a large stick. I'm looking up towards the house as I step directly into empty space and fall in the gap. First, I was pleased I fit in the gap. Obviously my personal trainer is doing her job. Then I felt the pain as my nerve endings caught up. Excruciating is an understatement.
I managed to heave myself up onto the pier and hobble up the bank to the house where I quickly grabbed copious amounts of ice. Ice makes everything better according to the Brat Child. If he has a hang nail, he needs ice. Of course at my house, ice is actually the bag of peas no one eats. It's very confusing to the Brat Child when I cook frozen veggies. In fact, he's been know to cry about me cooking his ice. But I'm off on another tangent- look squirrel!
I assessed the damage to my legs. I had a large 8"x10" bruise on my thigh and a very nasty bruise and cut on my shin. At one point there was concern that I might have fractured something. (I actually had photos of the injuries, but honestly, I hadn't shaved my legs in a few weeks days and didn't want anyone losing their lunch). I turned out OK though it did take several weeks for the bruising to subside.
Immediately following my fall, the men folk went about looking for something to fix the pier. The first board was too wide and sat up about an inch too high. I pointed out the probability of someone (me) stubbing their toe. Finally they found a board that fit in the opening but it was too long.
We could cut it, but I think I like it the way it is. I was thinking it might be fun to see what happens if you use it like a catapult.
Or a diving board.
