Throb
My ass hurts. It hurts pretty badly. A throb continually pulses through my backside. Muscles clench and release. I can’t sit down. There isn’t a comfortable place to rest. When I have to move around (which isn’t as frequent as I’d like), my walking is slightly impaired, and my legs look a little bow-legged. My ass has been pounded into submission, which is a bad thing because I am usually the dominant one.
How could this happen? Let me explain.
Thursday afternoon in my parent’s kitchen, my sister and I are sitting at the table and we’re talking about something which I can’t even recall. My mother hovers around us, like she normally does, because she doesn’t want to miss any of the gossip that zings back and forth like an competitive ping-pong match at the Olympics. Her baby (my niece) sits on her lap, enjoying the taste of the placemat in front of her. After 10 minutes of discovering her snack isn’t as tasty as she initially thought, she begins to squirm and whine. It must be time for a feeding.
“Would you mind holding onto her for a second?” asks my sister. She phrases her question would, instead of can. From experience, she knows the baby is sometimes uncomfortable and fussy around people she doesn’t recognize. The end result is a lot of crying from a little being. Me, being the baby’s uncle, shouldn’t be considered a stranger by any means. She recognizes me as the man with the dark clothes, curly hair and a three-day stubble. I shouldn’t make her cry. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case.
My niece has the unfortunate luck of being around me at the most inopportune times. She has associated me with the man who: eats in front of her when she’s hungry; drinks in front of her when she’s thirsty; doesn't change her when she needs a diaper change (it isn't like she tells me she needs a change); doesn't soothe her when she's cranky, gassy, sleepy, etc. You get the point. I don’t think I have ever been hear her when she’s in a good mood. She associates me with pain. It’s a symbiotic S&M relationship gone bad.
The scary thing is that I like babies. Babies like me. Well, every baby except for my own niece.
Not wanting to stigmatize myself with this dilemma, I decide against my better judgement and reach over to pick up the baby. I pull back the chair, get up, lean over the table and pick up the baby.
With the baby in my stretched-out hands, I reverse the actions mentioned above and I lower myself onto the seat. Slowly. Slowly. The seat isn’t coming into contact with my ass. I bring the baby closer to me as I continue to lower myself onto this elusive chair. Then, in one false move, imbalance strikes and BAM! My ass has slammed onto the ground.
“What the hell was that?” yells my father from the living room. Still in a moderate state of shock, I can’t respond.
With one eye open, I catch the baby’s expression change from happy to shocked to, well, you know the rest. I am sitting on the hard tiled floor, with a hysterical baby in my stretched-out hands.
My sister grabs the baby from me and asks if I’m alright. Then, she hones in on my mother. “Why did you do that for? Why did you take the chair away? Couldn’t you see he was going to sit down? What is wrong with you?” She turns around and walks out of the room. The sound of crying echoes in the hallway.
I see my mother’s feet in front of me while she responds to me (not my sister). “Why did you do that? Can’t you see where you’re going?” Her index finger wags at me. “Why were you going to sit in the chair, anyway?” She’s incredulous that someone would accuse her of doing something idiotic like removing a chair from someone who is about to sit down. Who sits down in chairs, anyway?
“Where did you think I was going with the baby?” I respond. “Ow. Ow. My ass. It hurts. Why the fuck did you take the chair away? What is wrong with you?” I’m still sitting on the floor. Because of my head’s proximity to the table, I am surprised I didn’t hit it with my noggin and let the baby fly backwards, doing a flip in the air, while my sister catches it mid-turn. Now, that would be something to see.
The baby’s cries are heard from the other room as my sister tries to calm her down. I was right when I said I am a disaster around my own niece. She’s going to hate me forever. Unless, she has a memory like my father, then she’ll forget everything in a week, or two.
A few days later, my ass still throbs. The sensation pulses its way through those muscles like an uneven, four-step disco baseline. Thump-thump-thump-thump. I hate the four-step. This feeling is putting me off of throbbing pain. All of this is due to the fact that my lack of dominance was beyond my control. This better not happen again.
How could this happen? Let me explain.
Thursday afternoon in my parent’s kitchen, my sister and I are sitting at the table and we’re talking about something which I can’t even recall. My mother hovers around us, like she normally does, because she doesn’t want to miss any of the gossip that zings back and forth like an competitive ping-pong match at the Olympics. Her baby (my niece) sits on her lap, enjoying the taste of the placemat in front of her. After 10 minutes of discovering her snack isn’t as tasty as she initially thought, she begins to squirm and whine. It must be time for a feeding.
“Would you mind holding onto her for a second?” asks my sister. She phrases her question would, instead of can. From experience, she knows the baby is sometimes uncomfortable and fussy around people she doesn’t recognize. The end result is a lot of crying from a little being. Me, being the baby’s uncle, shouldn’t be considered a stranger by any means. She recognizes me as the man with the dark clothes, curly hair and a three-day stubble. I shouldn’t make her cry. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case.
My niece has the unfortunate luck of being around me at the most inopportune times. She has associated me with the man who: eats in front of her when she’s hungry; drinks in front of her when she’s thirsty; doesn't change her when she needs a diaper change (it isn't like she tells me she needs a change); doesn't soothe her when she's cranky, gassy, sleepy, etc. You get the point. I don’t think I have ever been hear her when she’s in a good mood. She associates me with pain. It’s a symbiotic S&M relationship gone bad.
The scary thing is that I like babies. Babies like me. Well, every baby except for my own niece.
Not wanting to stigmatize myself with this dilemma, I decide against my better judgement and reach over to pick up the baby. I pull back the chair, get up, lean over the table and pick up the baby.
With the baby in my stretched-out hands, I reverse the actions mentioned above and I lower myself onto the seat. Slowly. Slowly. The seat isn’t coming into contact with my ass. I bring the baby closer to me as I continue to lower myself onto this elusive chair. Then, in one false move, imbalance strikes and BAM! My ass has slammed onto the ground.
“What the hell was that?” yells my father from the living room. Still in a moderate state of shock, I can’t respond.
With one eye open, I catch the baby’s expression change from happy to shocked to, well, you know the rest. I am sitting on the hard tiled floor, with a hysterical baby in my stretched-out hands.
My sister grabs the baby from me and asks if I’m alright. Then, she hones in on my mother. “Why did you do that for? Why did you take the chair away? Couldn’t you see he was going to sit down? What is wrong with you?” She turns around and walks out of the room. The sound of crying echoes in the hallway.
I see my mother’s feet in front of me while she responds to me (not my sister). “Why did you do that? Can’t you see where you’re going?” Her index finger wags at me. “Why were you going to sit in the chair, anyway?” She’s incredulous that someone would accuse her of doing something idiotic like removing a chair from someone who is about to sit down. Who sits down in chairs, anyway?
“Where did you think I was going with the baby?” I respond. “Ow. Ow. My ass. It hurts. Why the fuck did you take the chair away? What is wrong with you?” I’m still sitting on the floor. Because of my head’s proximity to the table, I am surprised I didn’t hit it with my noggin and let the baby fly backwards, doing a flip in the air, while my sister catches it mid-turn. Now, that would be something to see.
The baby’s cries are heard from the other room as my sister tries to calm her down. I was right when I said I am a disaster around my own niece. She’s going to hate me forever. Unless, she has a memory like my father, then she’ll forget everything in a week, or two.
A few days later, my ass still throbs. The sensation pulses its way through those muscles like an uneven, four-step disco baseline. Thump-thump-thump-thump. I hate the four-step. This feeling is putting me off of throbbing pain. All of this is due to the fact that my lack of dominance was beyond my control. This better not happen again.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
2 Comments:
Maybe you're looking at this from the wrong angle! You and your neice seem to be in uncomfortable positions at the same time. Eventually, she'll figure out that you're kindred spirits, destined to be bonded in a united front, against the chair puller-outers of the world!
There is another reason it could have been sore.
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