Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Jumpies, Tramps and Jeans... 

My sister wrote an entry on her little blog a while back about, among other things, the risk of injury and/or utter humiliation associated with jumping on a trampoline. I should preface this entry by affirming the fact that I absolutely LOVE trampolines. I've always wanted one of my own and, with the advent of actually owning a house (replete with backyard) on the immediate horizon, I just may purchase one. I want a really REALLY big one. Really big.

Anyway, I'll get to the point here...

My Aunt and Uncle, who live near Denver, purchased a trampoline for themselves and their two children some time ago. Myself, my wife and my parents, among others, spent this past Easter Sunday at their house. After ingesting what I consider to be a record amount of chips and dip, drinking more than a few sodas and playing a few rounds of cards, I sat down to watch me some playoff hockey. After thoroughly enjoying the result of the Nashville/Detroit game, My wife and I wandered out to the back deck for some "fresh air." I really had forgotten about the fact that they owned the trampoline, but there it was in all of it's mirth-generating splendor. My cousins were jumping around like rabid monkeys, obviously having a grand time. I immediately wanted to have a grand time as well. I did some quick calculatin' and figured that my girth, compared to their girth, could easily spell doom for THEIR good time. Regardless, they were eager to have more people on the trampoline for the purpose of playing more "trampoline-specific" games, so I took off my shoes and joined in.

We played us some games such as "Crack the Egg," "Dead Man" and "Chicken." I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was able to execute more than one flip and was even declared the winner of more than one "endurance and/or agility challenge." Sure, I was competing with two kids and my Wife, but I won, dammit. I was having more fun than I had experienced in some time and, it seemed, my wife was as well. Ultimately, we had to end the jumpy, flippy fun so that we could all go inside and enjoy Easter dinner...

The dinner itself was excellent. We had Honey glazed ham, wonderfully cheesy riced potatoes, rolls, green bean casserole and possibly some stuff that I failed to mention. It was, in fact, so enjoyable that I ingested 2 plates full of meaty starchy goodness. I refrained from having ice cream cake (we were not only celebrating the resurrection on Sunday, but having a combined birthday party for me, my Mom, my Wife and my Cousin Amy) but I did have me some more root beer (I really love root beer)... During the meal, my cousin Mandy was adamant that we'd all have to head back out and jump on the trampoline some more before it got dark. Once the meal was finished, she was very ready to go. Frankly, I was too. Me, my Wife, my Mom and my 2 Cousins made our way outside to the trampoline to experience yet more amazing jumpy fun.

When we got outside, both Mandy and Amy decided they'd be better off with socks on their feet and ran back inside to acquire some. My Wife was more interested in laying in the hammock than jumping on the trampoline and so she headed off in that direction. My Mom was still deathly afraid of anything associated with the trampoline and stayed safely on the deck. I, FINALLY, was left ALL ALONE with the wonderful springy thingy that is the trampoline. I kicked off my shoes, climbed up onto the thing and jumped as high as I felt necessary. I was having an awesome time, not worrying about running into anyone or having my ample rebound energy knock anyone else off. I WAS FINALLY FREE! My wife shouted "do a flip" from where she was lounging and so I obliged, gaining enough air to do a forward half-flip, landing on my back and using the resultant energy return to send me back up to my feet. I repeated this feat a few more times before my cousins came back outside. I, once again, had to be aware of others...I wandered off to the side of the trampoline and assumed a casual position. I placed my right hand in my pocket and used my left hand to brace myself against the deck. When I was just about to resume jumping and having fun and such, my Wife shouted


I looked downward and found that HOLY CRAP...I had, indeed, ripped my damn pants...The stupid things weren't split on a seam, like one would surely expect, but ripped from my hip halfway down to my knee RIGHT ON THE FRONT OF MY STINKIN' PANTS...Torn right down the front of the thigh, not even remotely repairable, I might add...My nearly new "carpenter jeans" suddenly appeared as if I had lost a battle with a pissed-off cat, and not a small one at that. Immediately embarrassed, I yanked my hand out of my pocket and pulled my hockey jersey down as far as it would go. (Frankly, I was never more pleased to have worn a hockey jersey anywhere or at any time. It covered the newly formed hole quite admirably.) My time on the trampoline was, officially, over, I surely couldn't risk further damage to my pants and I certainly didn't want to risk exposing any more of my pasty, doughy flesh than I already had. I sat, disgusted, in the living room until it was time to go home, watching more playoff hockey. I don't think it was a sign so much to stay off of trampolines, it's not like I injured myself (or someone else). It was more just a warning to be better prepared next time. I'm still dead-set on getting my own trampoline.

I think I'll just buy me some sweat pants while I'm at it.

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