I’m a banana freak. I eat em, mash em, purée them, put those yellow babies in bread and yes, probably choke em down… a little too sexily. I can’t help it. I’m a pervert. But so are you guys… speak for yourself. Alas! But, here we are. Ha! Pervs! I knew it. Bananas are also good for cramps (not lady cramps-the sugar in them will make your moody space worse-believe me I’ve tried), but these fruit sticks are good for leg cramps, arm cramps, brain cramps… things of that nature. Huh? Or, at least that’s the rumor. Not committing to the brain cramp suspicion; But, it could explain why there are so many bad drivers. So, imagine my surprise when I have been depleted from a midday romp, (uh *blushing… shhhh, everyone needs a lil momma-feel good time, *wink), AND I’m starving AND I reach for a ‘nanner… AND my calf seizes up. Ouch. Yeah, seriously, what the hell.
I try stretching it out, downward dog style, and it doesn’t seem to alleviate it. Damn you, yoga. Maybe too much momma feel good time? No, that definitely cannot be it. AWAY. Silly. Radical thoughts. Still with my unopened bannana in tow, I grab a heating pad and flop on the couch for a solid twenty minutes. Hoping the heat of this electric walk-around-furnace will bring release to my lopsided dead leg. Nope. I give up on the portable heatery thing and I hobble my way to a nearby staircase and attempt an alternate the stretch of the calves event. As I pedal each foot up and down on the step, I don’t seem to be finding any letup. Hmmm, still not quite busting that bitch out. Blast it. I aimlessly cruise around the house venturing to “walk it off” until I acquiesce. And take a big belly flop onto the hard tile floor. My banana stumbles across with me, airborne until it finally plunkers down into my line of sight. On the floor. After a couple bounces. Adding a light dusting of bunnies to the peel.
I lazily reach for the yummy potassium-rich goodness, in all my exasperated glory and finally concede to munching down on this little crescent moon shaped treat. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. And I hear a voice from above. Hello. Are angels singing? What are you doing. Is that you, God? No. It’s my honey asking me why the hell am I laying lifeless on the floor, slobbering all over a banana…
“Babe.. I had a cramp.”