Monkey Bidnez

Remember when you were a kid and how awesome recess was and that the monkey bars in particular were the greatest thing you had ever known? Yeah, they're pretty sweet and if you don't agree, you can just go home because monkey bars are the shiz.

Last night, while out for a jog around the neighborhood, I passed by the local elementary school and the local elementary school's playground, complete with several rows of monkey bars. It was like the Promised Land to the seven-year-old inside me (not literal).

I played on the monkey bars and that other thing (you know that thing that's like monkey bars but it's shaped like a domed cage . . . what is that called?) for a good 15 minutes. Meanwhile, a pertinent item of information was brought to mind: I'm old.

I did that thing where you swing your legs up over the monkey bars and flip upside-down and hang there. And then I couldn't get back up. Because I'm old. And there I was hanging precariously from my knees without any sort plan for getting down. And also it was cold. Eventually, I got down (oh, believe me--it was GRACEFUL) and went home.

This morning upon waking I was reminded again: I am old. My back and shoulders are sore and my hands are rubbed raw from the cold metal bars.

Why? Why do I do things like this?

Oh, by the way, Kim-antics are not over because my roommate has an amazing video of me high-jumping on the bed and it will be posted soon. Get excited.