A couple of days ago my wife had a scare. We've been reduced to returning to our humble beginnings because of the 'Great Recession'. Four months ago we moved into an apartment complex. While this fact is scary, it's not the source of my wife's fears.
Our youngest daughter is in first grade and has been sick for the last few days. She's bored out of her mind and has been testing her boundaries. Unwittingly, I opened the door to our apartment intending to find and scold her. To my surprise, the neighbors were hauling boxes and furniture to a moving van.
I knew their moving day was coming, but I forgot the exact day. If I'd remembered, I would have sent Hun to find our daughter while I hid in our bedroom closet. Weeks ago, in a fit of delirium, I promised my neighbor I would help him when the day arrived. Before I could slam the front door and escape, he froze me with the remember-you-promised-me stare. I placed a phony smile on my face and asked if I could help. Being the heinous, unforgiving neighbor he is, he pleasantly replied, "Sure, we're just getting ready to move the heavy stuff."
For those who don't know me, I am nearly 6'2" tall and weigh 275 lbs. Sure I'm a little stout, but in general I'm just a big man. The kind of man that people expect can lift the 'heavy stuff'. Soon climbing, lifting, and copious sweating ensued as I worked with my neighbor. I tried to pace myself, but a demon interfered, frightening my skittish youth, who went yelping with his tail between his legs to hide in some corner.
After a period of lost memory, (contraty to biased reports, I did not feint) I found myself lying on the front room floor of our apartment with a strange pressure in my chest, shortness of breath, and mild radiating pain down my arm. I know what your thinking and this gave me pause for concern, as well. However, when I told Hun that this was no time for wrestling, she removed her knee from my sternum and freed my twisted arm before saying, "Pinned you again, Buster."
Free of her hi-jinks, I went searching for my youth. The first place to look is behind 1981. It's his favorite hiding spot. I've kept 1981 around because it was the best year of my life. I was seventeen and at the height of my masculinity, charms, and looks. Combining all three, I stood about 2' tall. Everything has eroded since then.
I spent the day trying to find my youth without any luck. I think he's really mad that I would volunteer to lift heavy objects. I wouldn't worry about it so much, but my wife, Hun, kept looking at me with a funny expression saying, "You look awful, I'm making a Dr.'s appointment."
The next morning she asked me how I felt. I said, "I feel better, but there's still pressure in my chest."
"Oh, sorry," Hun says removing her knee from my sternum. "I guess I shouldn't be wrestling you right now because you look awful."
We went to the Dr. and I was pronounced fit as fiddle, which is really annoying because I've never seen a fiddle lift a two thousand pound piano. I wasn't that surprised because no Dr. I've ever visited has been able to cure any of my ailments, but I did think it was strange that he made this parting comment.
"Brad, take better care of yourself, you look awful."
Well of course I look awful, I can't find my youth.
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