A note on the subject of pain

As all of you should know, pain and I are oddly attracted to each other. Apparently I'm a sucker for it. Here are the latest escapades to prove this theory.


Example #1

It's Thanksgiving. You are mashing potatoes that have been cooking for the last 45 minutes in boiling water on a hot stove. All water has been drained from potatoes and you have added the correct ingredients to make a very good mashed potato mix. You have your aunt hold the pot for you after your grandmother gave you a teaspoon to get the entire thing of potatoes out (which, when emptied, fills two large bowls). Using said teaspoon, you work around your right-handedness and your aunt's left-handedness. You spill some on hot stove. What do you do?

Correct answer: Put spoon in other hand while you use your fingers to try to pick up still incredibly hot potatoes that have been boiling for 45 minutes and are resting on a hot stove. You then try to eat said very hot potatoes while your aunt and mother die laughing at you. After you have burned both your entire mouth, tounge, and right hand, you realize, hasn't this happened before? and figure out that wasn't such a great idea. Note to self: Don't do that again. At least until next Thanksgiving.



Example #2

It's the Sunday that ends the break. You have class the next day. You're trying to write an essay. You hurt really bad from having fallen on stupid acorn a couple weeks ago, and are still in much pain. You understand that your knees are likely to give out at any time on you, due to figure skating for ten years, tennis for two, and lacrosse for much longer than is healthy. Someone comes to your door saying "Have you ever played broomball? No? You have one minute, we're going." What do you do?

Correct answer: You agree eagerly, as you have never gotten the chance to play broomball. You can't graduate this school without having played one game of it, right? You then put on a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, and a tshirt, and a sweatshirt, and run to the ice rink which is across the entire campus, because you are running late. This hurts, but you don't care. You're giddy with amusement. You get there and you still don't know the rules, and as people are handing you the stick to play with and putting your helmet on for you, they push you onto the rink. You ask what to do, they just say keep the ball from going in the net. Alright. What does that involve? You guessed it. Slipping on the ice for a half hour, with no knee pads (because my captors didn't find a need to tell me about that little thing). A half hour later, your knees are twice the size they should be and you can barely move, let alone walk. You idly threaten said captors (which you know pretty well and they know you're joking) and go get some pink lemonade from the market on the way home. Still idly threatening because you're in much pain. You wake up in the morning, your knees are still double their normal size, you have a goose-egg on one, and you have bruises from the top of your knee to four inches below. And you don't bruise. Note to self: Next time, take knee pads. And a doctor.



Your honor, does that satisfy your requirements for evidence?




;) Cheers.