There’s a little day coming up in the not so distant future which often gets overlooked in the pantheon of days of March. There a lot who would think that St. Patrick’s Day is the only holiday worth celebrating in March despite that fact that no one actually get to take the day off. If the mail carriers, banks and schools don’t get it off, then we might as well not even celebrate it. The holiday I’m talking about is the Ides of March, which is the 15th, and is a celebration of Julius Caesar getting betrayed, by getting stabbed in the back. There are worse ways of getting betrayed though. Like for instance, how my body is betraying me.
I don’t know why my knees think it is okay to be sore all the time, but they are. For some reason, they think it is acceptable to make it hard for me to walk. I’ve treated these knees like the 15th Man on the San Antonio Spurs. Rarely do they ever have to do any work. They sit on the couch at home, or on a seat at work, only rarely having to do any work until I have to get up for the occasional drink, or I have crawl on the ground to get the remote control. Every once in a while at a doctor’s appointment they have to get tapped and act like they do something. But for the most part, they are living a sunny day at the beach. They think they are going to make my life a pain forever, but what they don’t know is that someday, they will be laid off and replaced by some shiny metal. Right now, they are arrogantly sitting below my desk, propped up, sitting without a care in the world. What they don’t know is that it is pied piper time soon. Revenge WILL be mine.
Wanna know who else betrays me on a daily basis? Mister Back himself. He lays back there, Mr. Invisible, covered up by fancy logos from T-shirts and chairs and always facing the walls, hiding in the shadows. Meanwhile my back is talking with all kinds of dark forces back there, Darth Vader, Lord Voldemort, and Master Shredder, to name a few, to figure out how to Force Choke the rest of me, by getting on my nerves nerves. They are teaching him some masterful skills in the art of torture despite the work I do for it, (or actually the lack of work I do, ie laying down, not moving). My back may look innocent enough, but he’s trying to kill me. The Back’s day will come though. He doesn’t know it yet, because he can’t see anything right now (he’s facing my chair), but I’m going to take down his reign of terror by visiting his arch-nemesis, The Chiropractor. Someday when I get around to visiting The Chiropractor, it will be goodnight to you, Back Pain.
Then there is the horrible, terrible controlling Stomach. This guy is the worst. He is constantly asking for food and water. He is the biggest jerk though, because he tortures everyone no matter what. If you give into his demands and give him what HE wants; water, vegetables, brussel sprouts, fruits, kale and other
healthy terrible thing things, it is torture for your mouth and esophagus and taste buds. “I promise I will be quiet and behave if you just eat healthy,” he says, knowing full well that we will all suffer the terrible taste of healthy food. “No more Kale!” the rest of us protest loudly. So he is down there going, “Okay, feed me whatever you want, but if you do, mass chaos down here. There will be rumbling and bumbling and wailing and moaning and I will reject everything about your pizza and pasta and candy and soda. The taste buds and mouth may like that stuff, but you are gonna pay for it. And I will grow and take over, if you send that good tasting stuff down. Eat a salad…or suffer the consequences!” See how he puts me in a no win situation? Pure betrayal.
All I know is if Caesar could see the utter betrayal going on here, he would welcome the ole Brutus stabbing him in the back. In fact, Caesar should be thanking Brutus. Brutus got Caesar’s back to shut up. And Caesar became famous for becoming the only thing that could make a salad tolerable. Caesar dressing.
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Bitter Betrayal Ben