The Skillz Report

Is Any Girl Crazy For An Arm-Less Man?

 

(Originally written 1/3/11)

 

 

 

I’ve done a LOT of dumb things in my 30 years.

 

Let’s see: I’ve accidentally used the women’s bathroom at a strip club, I’ve poured water in my cereal, I showed up for my first driver’s test with no car, and once celebrated a Warriors’ win by leaping as high as I could, unaware I was in a doorway at the time.

 

But all those gaffes pale in comparison to the one I committed three weeks ago, when during a round of batting practice at Cupertino Middle School, I tried to show off for non-existent fans by throwing a ball from left field foul territory all the way to the pitcher’s mound.

 

Bad mistake.

 

Halfway into my follow-through, my shoulder gave out and hasn’t been healthy since. What once were common day-to-day tasks have become obscenity-laced lessons in futility.

 

Skillz heaving trash into the dumpster: “OWW!”
Skillz brushing Josie’s teeth: “Ow ow ow ow ow!”
Skillz brushing his own teeth: “Owowowowowowowowowowowowowow!”

 

There’s only so much I can do with my left arm. I have to scrub the left side of my body with the right arm, which hurts. I have to do inventory at work, which requires the lowering of stacked boxes. OUCH. And Josie’s favorite pastime, being tossed high in the air by her daddy, has been put on hiatus—my agonized screams were starting to scare her.

 

Worst is when my howls are mistaken for howls of pleasure, like at our recent Xmas dinner when I shared a toast with my friends at a very large table which forced me to stretch…and stretch some more. Guys—that wasn’t laughter. 

 

For the time being, I will be unable to: choke-slam Hulk Hogan, turn off a blaring smoke detector, disco dance, take the Oath of Office, catch a jet falling from the sky, flap my arms and fly, listen to “Whoomp, There It Is!” (they clearly instruct you to wave your hands in the air), slap a giraffe on the ass, sleepwalk, do one-armed push-ups, swing on the uneven bars, take a bull by the horns, pistol-whip agitators, scratch a record, or execute a Nazi salute. (PRETTY sure I wasn’t gonna do that last one anyway, Jewish readers.)

 

I’m not exactly armless, but I am less one arm until this shoulder quits killing me. 
Why, oh WHY did those non-existent fans have to be at that field???