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Hubbing is a pain in the butt
Read Fenella's hilarious and sad adventures
Don't laugh, I'm in serious pain here!
When I put the jug (kettle) on an hour and a half ago to make myself a cup of coffee, I had every intention of relaxing with a cup of coffee, a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich left over from last night's barbie and maybe a pork chop and one of my home-made Italian sausages, and read one of the many books I greedily grabbed at out last book club meeting. However, the kettle boiled and the water in it grew cold. My butt got numb from sitting on my bed with the school macbook on my lap. Now, my right butt cheek has moved beyond just being numb and now actually has a real pain. It feels like it's badly bruised and I've been driven into by a manic Chinese driver in his car. This brings me to the conclusion, that hubbing is nothing more than a pain in the butt.
My kitchen downstairs is a disaster-zone resembling the after-effects of a tsunami or a small toddler's birthday party where there was no adult supervision. I regret, deeply regret, telling all my friends last night to leave the dishes as the ayi was coming in today. What a fool I was. Today is Tomb Sweeping Day and is a public holiday. No ayi and hubbing is a convenient way to forget about the mess downstairs. At least I had the forethought last night, to clingwrap all the leftovers. But I did see one last slice of Transkei Mud Pudding left in the serving dish. If my butt wasn't so sore I'd try and beat my daughter to it. I can hear her downstairs in the kitchen, trying to find a plate and a clean surface to work on to make her lunch. She takes after her father. Bloody child has eagle eyes. I just know she's going to spot the last slice of Transkei Mud, and if I shout for her to leave it alone, she'll eat it just to spite me because she is a teenager. That's what teenagers do.
I wonder if I should walk down to that other apartment complex and feed my friend's fish. Maybe that'll exercise my butt that is now starting to cramp. Butt, bum, arse, buttocks, toosh, tochas, posterior end or whatever you call it, just not the American word as in English it means something completely different and I definitely don't have a pain there. Mpundus is the African word. I quite like that, has got a good ring to it. However, I'm sure the fish won't starve if I miss just one day. Don't they eat each other if they get hungry, or those little green plants in their tank. My butt is too sore to walk. It's actually affecting my lower back now and my calf muscle.
I bought all these pirate dvds (oops shouldn't I have said that? Is it not politically correct to mention it here) and haven't watched any yet. My butt is stuck on my bed and I can't get up. Tomb Sweeping Day. Why do you need a whole bloody day to sweep tombs? I don't think anybody except the emperors were buried in tombs, so who's tomb are they sweeping? Jeez, my kitchen and dining area needs a sweep after that barbie.
Okay so what exercises can I do, except walking a kilometer to feed the fish, to get my butt functioning again? Okay, what does the internet say. Squats. If I do that I'll look like the dog pic I used in the Doggy Doo Hub. Also, I don't have that bar thing with weights on that the woman is holding in the pic, so that's out. Okay, this other squat picture I looked at is just wrong. No two ways about that. Might split my pants if I did that and then my butt will catch a cold. Next one, lunges. Ouch, think I just pulled a hamstring, not sure about the glute. But the pain in my butt is still there. Step ups. Mmmm. Don't have a platform and the rickety windy spiral staircase I have might be dangerous if I tried it on that. If I end up with my foot going through the gap between steps, I might end up with far more than a sore butt. Also, maybe the stainless steel pins holding the cartilage together in my knee might pop out. help! Okay, my lower back is offically numb as well. Hip extensions. Nope, need a ball and a dumbell and have neither of those. One-legged deadlift. Jeez, I'll be dead if I try this. Hiking. Oh God, it's those blasted fish calling me to be fed. They are sending me subliminal messages through the internet that they are needing to be fed. I suppose I can hike up to my friend's apartment. Biking. Mmmm, my bike is in the garage. Nah, not in the mood. Walking. Christ Almighty. It's those fish calling again. Running. No, have shins splints from when I played hockey. Kickboxing. yep, I can go for that. Just need to find a photo of my ex to use as a target. Maybe I can get one off Facebook.
Oh well, I guess I might have to try and get up. Both butt cheeks have gone now, as well as my lower back. Maybe I can hobble slowly to the stairs and walk up and down them a few times. Think I'll send me son to feed the fish. He likes to be helpful. Shooting pains now. Is it possible to pull a muscle from just sitting? Yikes, my son has just asked if he can eat the last slice of Transkei Mud. Okay, my eagle-eyed daughter must have missed it. But, seeing as my son is the chosen one to feed the fish, I'll grant him permission to eat it. That way, he'll be more amenable to walking down the road to feed the fish. Ahhhhhhhrrrrrrrrgggggg, almost up now. But now, my feet have pins and needles. Can't stand! Can't stand. Will just have to sit down again and continue hubbing.