I'll admit it. Wakeboarding is not my cup of tea. My shoulder, which is still floating somewhere on a calm lake in Northern Michigan, thinks so too. On the last day of our vacation, I decided to wakeboard -- which, simplified, is basically Satan's form of recreation.
I strapped a board to my feet, grabbed a rope and watched as a speed boat barreled through the water, pulling my shoulder out of its socket. Thankfully, my frantic gasps for air snapped it back into place. Lucky me.
Of course, I'm not the only one coping with a malady. At least this one's not mental.
Tracy at Outside didn't pass out when they popped her shoulder into place, but yeah, I bet she was close.
Stacer makes my shoulder look like a granite slab carved by Michaelangelo. I feel better already.
Amber's kid fell off the bus and spent a sad party nursing a, wait for it, dislocated shoulder. Now I feel bad for complaining at all. Poor guy.
This isn't a shoulder, but it's close enough. Besides, the cute-as-hell boy of my wife's all-time favorite blogger -- Shim and Sons -- sports the best sling ever made.
[Before my shoulder fell off, I honestly envisioned performing the above-pictured trick.]
