This will be a short post, mostly because I’m typing with my feet. My hands and arms are out of commission currently. I’d ask for sympathy but I did this to myself, so you may direct laughter and slightly amused judgment my way instead.

I spent today at what may possibly be one of the most fun places on earth- a truly spectacular indoor playground. There were two ziplines, countless slides, obstacle courses, rope mountains, firemen’s poles, the works.

These types of places often have height restrictions “You may be no more than 60 inches tall to play in the structure.” Now the thing is, on a good day, when I stand up very straight, when my hair is at it’s tallest, curliest peak, I am about 62 inches. So I looked at that sign and thought that no one would question me if I went into the huge play structure along with the little boy who was with me, whose presence was the reason for the visit. So in we both went.

 This evening I’m ready for a stretcher, or maybe one of those chairs that four beef-cakey men carry you around on. It would seem that there was more to that height restriction than initially thought.