Dem sore bones

“Dem bones, dem bones, dem sore bones” is the seniors’ lament after covering a couple thousand kilometres behind the wheel, particularly when heading north into the snow and cold.
Nothing makes you appreciate a warm climate by not being in one.
After two days on the road, my wife, the Pearl of the Orient, and I were creaking and groaning like a couple of pieces of rusty old equipment that had not experienced the relief of a grease gun for a couple of decades.
I was looking forward to dedicating a day relaxing in a well-padded easy chair, soaking up the sun pouring through the big window at my sister’s place.
The Pearl ran that idea off in short order.
“Elliott get off your butt. Time for our exercises,” I was informed by her as she began leading my sister and me through a regiment of stretching exercises designed to un-seize our joints.
My brother-in-law was excused as he claimed his hearing aids were out of order. Besides, he was busy cooking breakfast.
“How many pieces of toast do you want with your bacon and eggs, Jack?” he quizzed as the exercise class started to bend and stretch.
“Only two slices, NO butter, NO bacon, and NO eggs!” ordered the Pearl.
It was tough to keep from replying, but all my energy and concentration was focused on keeping my various sphincters under control.
“Okay, lock your fingers, now stretch up, hands way over your heads!” ordered the Pearl.
“Thump! Rap! Bang!” I quickly lowered my hands and stepped out from under the ceiling fan (being over-height has definite disadvantages).
Safely repositioned, I rejoined the drill sergeant.
“Pop! Snap! Ooofff!” were the only sounds emanating from the creaking bodies for the next few minutes as we variously stretched muscles that were more than a little atrophied and put joints through some manoeuvres that were on the verge of sadism.
“Okay,” ordered the Pearl, stopping to catch her breath. I headed towards the easy chair.
“Not so fast, Elliott. We’re just getting started,” snapped the drill sergeant. I froze in mid-stride, wistfully looking at the beckoning recliner.
“Now we’ll do our hip stretches. Keep those hip sockets limber or your just begging for a hip replacement,” the Pearl informed her sagging class.
“Hand on the chair back for balance. Now slide your one foot up the inside of your other leg to your knee, with your other knee pointing out sideways,” instructed the Pearl, demonstrating with the skill of a ballerina.
Using the chair to maintain your balance became readily apparent as I commenced to tip over and had to quickly stamp my foot down to regain some balance.
The resulting charley horse eased up after a couple minutes and I rejoined the class.
“Now we’ll do a couple of leg back stretches. We call this one the fire hydrant,” she explained, cocking her leg and stretching it back and up.
As the scene before me came into focus, I started to giggle, then guffaw. That’s when I lost sphincter control and had to excuse myself for a dash to the john.
After a quick shower and fresh clothes, I sat down to the toast, which Ivor conveniently had forgot to “not butter.”
Exercise class resumes tomorrow morning.

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