In case there’s anyone who isn’t aware, it’s August.
But last night? The temperture dropped below freezing. Seriously people.
When I woke up this morning, at five am THANK YOU RYKER, there was a thin layer of frost covering the grass. Which meant that I wasn’t exactly packing up our beach gear to head out to the lake. This is entirely disappointing.
We haven’t had nearly enough beach days and I was so pumped to show off my post child bikini body. Search for the sarcasm there people, but in all honesty, I really do feel ripped off when it comes to days in the sun. As our notorious Alberta winter quickly approaches, I feel that we haven’t had nearly enough warm days to make up for all of the nastiness to come.
Stupid global warming.
Looking out my front window, I can see the first pieces of yellow leaves starting to fall from the trees. And across the street, what’s that? There is a man walking to get his mail in a PARKA and beside him, three little kids in their bathing suits chasing each other with water guns. Not a scene you see everyday. Kids? They’re fucking brave when it comes to having a good time.
The You Can Die From A Water Gun Story, as told by Auntie Sandra (the names in this story have been replaced to save two teenage boys some serious embarrassment)
When Willy and Dick were little boys, there was nothing that they loved more in the world than to strip down to their nothings and play outside. Especially at Grandma and Grampa’s house, where they’d have their pool, huge buckets of water and two Super Soakers to race around with.
If you’ve ever played with a Super Soaker, you’d know the pump ones can be difficult to fill up. And once they’re full? They are heavy as hell.
This is where the buckets come in. The boys could put the ends of their guns in the bucket and pump away until their water containers were full again.
It. Was. Awesome.
Except for the one time where Willy almost died.
Grandma and Grandpa were watching their grandsons’ cute little bums racing around the yard pummeling each other with streams of water. They would then escape to their separate corners of the yard to reload.
But Willy didn’t do so well on the follow through. He put his gun in the bucket, and as he pulled the handle of the pump up for the fill, he slammed his penis in between the pump handle and gun handle. He did this with all of the strength a little boy has.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The kill-me-now-if-I’m-not-already-dead-excruciating-pain!
I am probably not giving the description of his injury justice to the severity he felt, as I do not have a penis. I obviously cannot accurately relate- which I am thankful for. But from everything I’ve been told in the past? I’m assuming that this would hurt like a son of a bitch.
And if this wasn’t bad enough for the little guy?
From the shock of the sudden explosion of excruciation, he dropped his gun. His gun which was filled with water and weighed more than he did. His gun that was locking his penis in between the two handles like a torturous vice.
With this move, his eyeballs nearly shot out of his head. Not knowing what to do, but aware that he needed help, he ran. Dragging the Super Soaker behind him, in between his legs, by his penis.
“GRANDMA! GRABDPA! HELP! I AM DYING!”
No shit.
They rescue him and apparently the damage does not look to be too severe or permanent. And yes, I know, it most definitely felt otherwise.
They were sitting seriously on the back deck with Super Soakers strewn carelessly to the ground when Auntie Sandra walked into the back yard.
Most likely discussing the possibility of future complications.
Auntie Sandra is unaware of the circumstances, smiles at the boys, and asks, “Who’s in for a water fight?”
Willy looks up at his aunt with the widest of eyes, and says, “Auntie Sandra, NO! You. Can. Die.”
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