Eskew? Nah, Call Me Askew.

By Steve Eskew

Wouldn’t ya know, just as I was considering the purchase of a pogo stick––Bang! A cluster of doddering maledictions have descended upon my hunky-funky physique. 

My leg! My arm! My derrière! 

Maybe I deserve my present dismay. For years I’ve shamed people for their trivial gripes. I’d say, “Oh, quit your bellyaching, you wimp. If you think you’ve got it bad, just turn on the TV and watch the news.”

Talk about practicing what you preach. Presently, I’m hosting a huuuge pity party for myself. For a guy who’s loaded with self-adoration, I’m stupefied to realize that I’m equally loaded with self-pity. Who knew?

Recently, I’ve come down with a severe case of  “a catch in me get-alongs”––not age-related, I swear. Too young for that. 

As a matter of fact, I’ve always hated to hear old people gripe about their aches and pains. So, I hereby promise I’ll never be guilty of such an atrocity when I do get old. 

However, that’s then, this is now:

Most of these afflictions materialized within minutes of each other. Like a hex. They don’t make me feel old. They make me feel more like I was hit on the right side of my macho body by a semi while I was roaring across a road in a Harley. 

Somehow I’ve dislocated my entire right side. I’m uneven, unsymmetrical, downright unbalanced. 

I can’t jump anymore. That means no more hopscotch. I’m totally ramshackled. It’s insanely  painful to sit or lie down, but I can’t learn how to sleep standing up. Furthermore, I’m too klutzy to substitute my left hand for various tasks while my right arm is out of commission.

Like a nightmare, I’ve become unilateral. The  right side of my body suddenly lies in a lopsided contrast to the left side. Go figure. They’re both exactly the same age. 

In addition, my right eye has suddenly grown weaker; my right ear, weedier; my right hip,   swollen. And my right arm? Presently, it’s as pathetic as a weenie in a butcher shop. And it’s my confounded right arm that erupted this descension into deep, dark damnation. 

Or am I overreacting? 

Regardless, shame on anyone who thinks of age as a factor of my dilemma. I short-circuited the flawless right side of my anatomy by the mere act of putting on a heavy winter coat. It’s gotta be a hex. Let’s face it, some devilish force has rendered Eskew askew.

You’d think my left hand would proudly serve as a worthy surrogate while my right arm flatly refuses to function. Ha!

Nowadays when I shave, I have to use my left arm to lift my right hand. While the injured hand remains suspended in mid-air, I move my face up and down on my razor until my unwanted whiskers disappear.

The first time I saw myself moving my face like a fool, it struck me as funny. I got the giggles, severely nicking by face. Worse, I then dared to use my left hand for shaving. Ambidextrous, I ain’t. My new nickname? Scarface. 

The last straw occurred when I cracked a bone on my foot on the way to bed. Ya see, we’ve introduced the concept of keeping each of our model mid-life bodies as a mystique to each other, always keeping the room pitch black.

(Hence, we wisely dissembled the mammoth mirror we’ve kept over our bed for years.) 

For the past six weeks we’ve used flashlights to find our way around the bedroom (Eat your hearts out, neighborhood voyeurs!)

Anyway, since these afflictions have arisen, I’ve carried my flashlight in my mouth. It’s been kind of fun––until two nights ago. 

I stepped on a pet’s toy and screamed like a girl. Just as I opened my mouth, the flashlight popped out, crashing into my foot. Consequently, I’ve all but abandoned plans to resume my career as a ballerino.

Meanwhile, as if all this weren’t debilitating  enough, I got my second booster covid shot––in my left arm, of course. 

Expecting only minor pain at the injection site, you can imagine my horror when I awoke with both arms incapacitated. Okay, temporarily incapacitated I grant you, but it’s still hard to grasp my cane.

Yes I’m using a cane––only temporarily. I hate using a cane. I’m too cussed young to use a cane. I look ridiculous.

Oy! I think I feel a hangnail developing. 

Nix on a pity party. I need a fix. Quick! Somebody! Anybody! Turn on a news station.