Sometimes I just can’t win.

I end up looking and sounding like an idiot without even trying…..

Last Monday evening, the kid had a fall league Basketball game down at a High School outside Fort Worth.

Last Monday, not this Monday….. not that this nugget is important to this particular tale…

I hit Arby’s drive-thru on the way to the school.

I was driving, so I could not eat my roast beef sandwich until we got parked.

(Actually, I can eat a sandwich, drink a coke, check email, and whistle, all while driving, but my wife only allows me to actually DRIVE while she is in the vehicle with me)

By the time we got to the school, we were running close on time. There was no time for me to sit in the car and eat. I was going to have to grab the sandwich and scarf it down as we went into the gym.

No problem.

So, there I am, shuffling along on my broken wheel of a foot, weaving from side to side like a drunken idiot, trying feverishly to unwrap the Roast Beef sandwich gripped in one hand.

We actually reach the gym and I still have not managed to unwrap the damn sandwich.

I am about 10 feet from the bench where the wife and I will be plopping down when I reach my other hand into one of my pockets to grab a packet of Horsey Sauce. (I’m not a savage! I can’t eat Arby’s without the Horsey Sauce!)

(Those not familiar with Arby’s must be aware that Horsey Sauce is a Horseradish Sauce that can be put on your sandwich, not to be confused with the other popular condiment at Arby’s, DOGGIE Sauce, which actually contains real bits of Terrier)
Just then, of course, my bad foot rolls just enough to where my shoe is actually ejected off of my foot.

I stumble, convinced that I am about to do a header right on to the floor, in front of dozens of parents, but manage to keep my balance…….unfortunately with the after effect of me smashing my sandwich into my face, in some bizzaro reflex action where I ram my fist into my face, …with the effect of then dropping my trusty packet of Horsey sauce on the floor.

The Wife, who is walking right behind me, shakes her head in disgust, grabs me by the back of the collar, and barks out “Good Lord Idiot!! You’re embarrassing me!! Go sit down!!”

She points at an open spot on the bench and shoves me in the right direction.

Now, there’s one thing I have to point out about me and shoes. With the paralysis and numbness in my legs, and with the spinal fusion I have, I can’t actually bend down far enough to put my shoes on by myself. At home alone, I loosely lace up the shoes and then stand up and slide my feet into them like slippers. Here in the basketball gym, my wayward shoe had now come untied completely.

Slipping my foot into an actual untied shoe and then attempting to ambulate would just have the effect of making me look like, well, an idiot…..

I was in trouble.

I sat down on the bench as ordered like a good little boy.

Other parents were staring….

My wife knelt down in front of me, wayward shoe in hand…

People were REALLY staring now.

Murmurs of “look! she’s going to put on his shoe for him!” started to filter through the crowd.

I stuck out my shoe-less leg like a good little idiot.

My wife slipped the shoe onto my foot, tied it tightly, and then looked up at my smiling face..

My smiling face covered in roast beef sandwich that had been smashed into it seconds earlier.

She reached into her pocket and grabbed a wadded-up Kleenex.

“Good Lord Idiot!! You’re like taking a toddler out in public!” She sarcastically said as she reached up and started wiping the sandwich residue from my face, just seconds after having put my shoe back on me.

I glanced down at the remaining chunk of sandwich in my hand, shifted my focus to the packet of Horsey Sauce I had dropped in my foot-rolling mishap, and then stuck out my free hand, pointing wildly across the floor.

“Horsey! I need my Horsey!!”

People within 20 feet all started to laugh. Here before them was a 6’2″, 275lb, 47yr old TODDLER who had tripped over his own feet while waddling across the floor, who had to have his spousal “Mommy” put his shoe back on and tie it for him, and who then had to have his messy little face wiped off, all the while calling out that he needed his pet Horsey.

My wife bowed her head in shame, looked up the ceiling, and then mumbled her patented “Why Lord? Why? Why me?”

As for your’s truly…

I was a happy little camper. I got my shoe put back on, got my face cleaned better than I can ever manage to clean it, and managed to get my beloved packet of Horsey sauce retrieved off the floor.

The players on the opposing team that my son was about to play all saw this scene play out and then made remarks about how I must be a special needs child that just LOOKS old.

My son had to lower his head and mumble..

“Nah…that’s just my Dad…..”

“My Idiot Dad……”

(From the Archives)