Everything in this story is true
At 9:30 this morning I woke up after a very late night of binge typing, and I had to get out of bed immediately. The thing about being at the computer from early evening to early morning is that I go from drinking soda to water to tea, so at this point in the mid-morning, I really, really had to pee.
I unspun myself from the covers and slipped out of my bed. I made it the few steps to my bedroom door, opened it, and realized something awful. There, within arm's length, was the bathroom, and within two-arms' lengths was the toilet, but I couldn't move. My right foot wouldn't budge, and there, right there, was the toilet. I tried to lift my foot, but I couldn't. I was salivating for the sweet basin before me, but I couldn't get to it. Because my damn right foot was asleep.
Dead asleep. It was so asleep that I could feel the vacancies in each individual capillary, and if I even flinched a muscle fiber below my hip, every blood vessel in my foot would scream in protest. It was ridiculous! I'd never felt so ably incapacitated in all my life. Had the lid been up on the toilet, I probably would have attempted arcking my stream ten feet in the air so it could span the six-foot divide.
Oh, I'd considered the possibility. Ten-high to six-wide -- that seems like the right ratio. Was there any way to lift the lid from where I was standing? Nope, no poles were within reach. I tried dragging my foot, but that just reminded my foot that it existed once again. There was nothing left to do but wait it out.
So wait it out I did, but at least I learned a lesson from this whole experience.
Minutes later, as I was releasing sweet, sweet, Root-Beer/ Sleepy-Time-Tea-flavored urine into the toilet bowl, I thought, Time to stop sleeping with that anvil on my thigh, and I put the anvil up on "Free on Craigslist".
I unspun myself from the covers and slipped out of my bed. I made it the few steps to my bedroom door, opened it, and realized something awful. There, within arm's length, was the bathroom, and within two-arms' lengths was the toilet, but I couldn't move. My right foot wouldn't budge, and there, right there, was the toilet. I tried to lift my foot, but I couldn't. I was salivating for the sweet basin before me, but I couldn't get to it. Because my damn right foot was asleep.
Dead asleep. It was so asleep that I could feel the vacancies in each individual capillary, and if I even flinched a muscle fiber below my hip, every blood vessel in my foot would scream in protest. It was ridiculous! I'd never felt so ably incapacitated in all my life. Had the lid been up on the toilet, I probably would have attempted arcking my stream ten feet in the air so it could span the six-foot divide.
Oh, I'd considered the possibility. Ten-high to six-wide -- that seems like the right ratio. Was there any way to lift the lid from where I was standing? Nope, no poles were within reach. I tried dragging my foot, but that just reminded my foot that it existed once again. There was nothing left to do but wait it out.
So wait it out I did, but at least I learned a lesson from this whole experience.
Minutes later, as I was releasing sweet, sweet, Root-Beer/ Sleepy-Time-Tea-flavored urine into the toilet bowl, I thought, Time to stop sleeping with that anvil on my thigh, and I put the anvil up on "Free on Craigslist".