Shower Safety First

Three words that changed my life: Shower. Safety. Seat.

If you asked me five years ago what would I be doing today, I doubt I would have said sitting in a Walmart parking lot while my wife purchases a shower safety seat for me. Oh and she even made a back story in case someone asked her about it: “It’s for my grandma.” FYI, her grandmas don't need one.

So still on crutches, but thanks to the miracle of my brand new shower safety seat, I can finally shower while cutting out the calorie burning associated with all that unnecessary standing. Exercise, blecghk! And the shower safety seat is made by the same brand as my crutches. You really do care, Carex!

Actually the box calls it a “bath & shower seat with back.” Exactly how a chair helps you take a bath, I’ll never know (foot bath?), unless your bathtub is as huge as Francis’s from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. Stay out of the deep end, granny!

Anyway, so as this nice old gal above shows us, clothing is optional.

Early retirement rules!

Ravioli-Os

Wow, it’s been a long time since I have felt a little bloggy. Let’s see if I can pump out four this week just like old tymey’s sake.

So first I wanted to share this story about my lunch. First I should tell you I am on crutches and working from home today (I’ll blog more about my perpetual crutchy-ness next time), but you should know that the kitchen is literally five feet (as the fly flies), triple that when I have to swoop around the cape of good couch. Then it is another five feet to where my well meaning wife placed a can of Chef Boy our D’s (the D stands for delicioso) ravioli, which was by the microwave (fifteen feet is a lot with two brokey feet). Now she will contend that that was where I wanted it, but tis not so. I asked for Spaghetti-Os by the microwave so I could cook them: she couldn’t find those Os so she grabbed Ravioli-Os instead. But if she knew me at all, she would know I don’t like those cooked: I like them raw and wiggling (they’re precooked). Don’t judge me: you probably eat cold pizza; same thing weirdo.

I’ll totally elaborate more on my rapidly declining physical state another time but let’s just say that even in our tiny yet narrow apartment getting to the vittles is almost worth starving to avoid. I seriously just thought the hunger pains were better than scrambling for the Chef, but the hungry finally prevailed at about 2pm. Anyway so I went and grabbed my can and fork and flung them as best as I could to the couch. Then hobbled back to take my seat (all tired and such). Then the ring breaks off the can (it’s the kind with a ring).

So I hobble my brokey body all the way back to find the can opener and fling that on to the couch. Then hobble once again to my seat (now I knew it wasn’t worth the trip). The can opener doesn’t really work on cans made to be opened with a ring. So I try and try and jimmy it and jimmy it. And sauce splatters all over me. Fifteen minutes of prying and poking and sliding my fork around and whatnot later, and I finally get it open. I took a picture of the can. As you can see, this method is not exactly safe and I am just glad I didn’t cut a finger off or give myself lockjaw; I was too hungry to deal with either of those dilemmas, though they might have made this story actually interesting. I promise to give myself lockjaw next time.

Can with trusty ring opener. "LOOK! EASY OPEN TOP"

MMMmmmm cold Ravioli-Os right out of the can. Totally worth it.