-- My Mom's Poor Aching Crotch (Day 21)

 

It started out as a beautiful day in Key West. Warm winds, swaying palm trees -- that sort of thing.  My dad told my mom he wanted to take her shopping and sightseeing in town.  "Goody goody!" she exclaimed. 

I was happy, just because Mom was happy:

 

 

 

So Dad went to the back of the Supervan and unloaded the bikes. 

My mom said, “What’s with the bikes?” And my dad replied, “That’s how we’re getting to town. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

"Yeah... I guess so."

 

 

Mom asked, “Just how far away is town?”  Dad said, "Oh not far -- only a few miles."  Mom’s smile faltered, but she realized that it was a hassle to pack up the Supervan just for a drive into town. 

So off they went on their bikes with Dad in the lead.  I stayed behind to guard our campsite. 

Mom took a crapload of pictures as they rode.  Real safe move, Mom. 

 

 

The ride into town was about 6 miles.  A lot farther than the “few” miles Dad had mentioned.  But there was much to see, so Mom did her best to keep up. 

Here's where we are right now btw:

We be at da blue dot (Key West)

 

 

They stood at the Southernmost Point of the continental U.S.:

 

They ate lunch at the Hard Rock Café.  Mom found a cool pin for Uncle Don’s collection.

 

Arugula salad... Yum!

 

Then they rode up one street and down another until they came to Ernest Hemingway’s house.

 

 

He was a writer.  I wonder if he would have a blog like mine if he were still alive.

They saw all kinds of weird things and weird people. 

 

Now right about then, Mom kept pushing from her mind the fact that her crotch was feeling a bit sore.  Prolly from sitting down for lunch and then hopping back on the bike too soon.  Dad asked her if she wanted to go into any of the shops.  And my mom said... No. 

Huh?  This was why:



The culprit

 

 

So they headed back to the campsite. 

Mom looked forward to stopping at each light or stop sign just so she could put her foot on the ground and take the pressure off her sore crotch. 

Then came a stretch of bike path, a couple of miles long.  Dad was still in the lead and Mom felt herself falling behind.  She pushed through the pain. 

She stood up as she pedaled, and chanted in counts of eight to catch up with Dad.

“Push, push, push, push, (sit, sit, sit, sit).

Push, push, push, push, (sit, sit, sit, sit).” 

Notice I said the word “sit” and not “rest.”  There was no resting on that uncomfortable seat.

About now, Mom’s crotch was on fire.  She hadn’t felt this sore since that Mack truck came through in May of 1987...

 

 

Finally, she caught up with Dad.  The convo went something like this:

Mom:  “I can’t do this anymore.”

Dad:  “Fine. Let’s walk.”

They dismounted their bikes.

Mom:  “I don’t understand. Why am I in such pain and you're not?”

Dad:  “Who says I’m not in pain?”

Mom:  “Well then why didn't you say anything?”

Dad:  “Because I’m not a complainer.”

 

That’s when Mom got back on her bike and rode off.

When they arrived at the Supervan, I was so excited to see them.  Dad parked his bike and let me out.  Mom parked her bike and stumbled to the Supervan.  When Dad and I went back inside, we saw Mom sprawled out on the bed with a bottle of Advil in her hand. 

Dad offered Mom a can of Diet Coke.  She took it from him, and instead of opening it and drinking it, she decided to sit on it, just to cool her crotch down!  hah.

Crotch Alert  --  Crotch Alert  --  4-Alarm Fire!

 

 

After a well-deserved nap for all 3 of us, Mom and Dad took a boat to another island, Sunset Key. They ate dinner at Latitudes.  Oh, and they took a taxi to town.  Mom ain't gettin' on that bike again anytime soon.

 

 

 

 

Dad said dinner was gooooood.  Mom liked it, too.  As for me, I'd give the bread an A+.

 

Geez,  I love bread

 

 

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