| Tuesday, August 28, 2007 |
| Pride Comes Before a Fall |
Surely this must be some kind of mistake? A post? On 'In My Tree'? What is going on. Well, seeing as I am on holiday at the moment, I thought I would take the opportunity to say 'hi'. So, er, 'hi'. Well now that is over with, I guess I ought to fill up some space with some pointless meanderings about my life. Now, where shall I start.......
Ok, firstly, I have a new job. Well, it is not exactly a 'new' job as it is the same as the old job, but it is in a brand spanking new location. Luckily, a post came up much closer to home and, although I was quite settled in my old place of work (although there were few people I would call 'friends'), the opportunity to cut down on travelling time (good for the environment - yay!) and work closer to where I live (no more late arrivals at home - yay!) were too good to turn down. Bearing in mind I intend to start planning a family shortly, the extra cash saved as a result of this move will come in very useful. So, in short, yay to me!
At the moment I am relaxing in Spain, although I have to admit it is a little difficult to relax at the moment. Of late, I have developed what some might describe as a 'beer-belly', I prefer to think of it as an extra layer of warmth. Consequently (you can tell I have been writing too many essays recently, who uses 'consequently' in casual conversation??!!), my father-in-law suggested we go for a bike ride. I anticipated that this would be a short, yet jolly, jaunt around the neighborhood. However, it turned into an 18km ordeal that I thought would never end. The main cause of my pain was not so much the cycling, more the fact that I felt like a razor blade was taunting my genitals. The saddle was perhaps the most uncomfortable thing I have ever experienced. I felt like blood was about to surge forth from around my.........well, you get the drift. Now it hurts when I sit down for a long period of time. Hence, writing this post is a little like torture. Hey, the price we have to pay, right?
I guess I could have said enough after 6km and we could have headed back after accomplishing a respectable 12km ride. But this was my father-in-law. And his friend. I was representing England. Suddenly, this became about national pride (and proving I wasn't a wuss!!). I have never been particularly competitive (although I play football regularly, I am know for a rather languid approach - I put that down to skill, they put it down to laziness), and yet here I was feeling the urge to prove that I am a man. What a dick. The price for my pride (something that has been badly bruised over the years when not neglected entirely) is a scorching red scrotum. Lesson learnt. Next time, screw the pride. If my father-in-law thinks I am a big girl, then so be it. There's no shame in that, right? Now, where's that Vaseline? |
posted by korova @ 2:07 pm  |
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