The past few weeks, I've been going to see a physical therapist to help me out with some dull pain in my right foot.
NOTE: I enjoy telling people that I'm seeing a 'therapist' (leaving out the 'physical' part). It's fun to see the reaction on their faces, which run from concern to "Well, that figures."
NOTE: This is a lie.
As part of my 'therapy' (What's the first thing which pops into your mind when you see the word 'therapy'? See what I mean?), I'm required to balance on one foot for thirty seconds. In order that I don't fall off or bash my head into the wall, the 'therapist' (once again...) lets me look at an open I Spy book.
Hopefully, most of you know the type of book I'm talking about. Very similar to a Where's Waldo? challenge, the I Spy books give you a detailed picture of a venue with a lot of junk in it (much like my desk). The reader is then required to find a specific item, whether it be a toy duck, set of keys, Miley Cyrus' chastity, or John Boehner's balls.
|"Here I am. |
|"Really? Because I don't think it'd be that difficult."|
|"Hmmm....that's odd. I put them someplace. |
Maybe in my other set of pants?"
|I spy....a smiley face...an octopus...John Kerry...|
WTF you mean that's an Easter Island statue??? This sucks!!
Therefore, for those of us who may be (who am I kidding about "may be") middle-aged, might I offer an I Spy For the Underachiever? This way, we can easily find all the asked-for items and not feel like Forrest Gump and a Rubik's Cube.
|I spy...a house...two cars...a tree branch...grass...DONE! |
|"And could one of y'all help me with this Rubiks Cube? |
It's a real bitch."