In many posts here, I have hinted at how, despite being in the fourth decade of existence, I don’t feel a day older than my 12-year old. My body doesn’t agree with me. While the two hours of fun at the “bring an adult to football” at the kid’s football coaching class was fine and dandy as I time travelled to be the competitive prick trying to out-do kids who have been training for nearly a year now (Ha !), a day later, each cell in my body is rapping “you are 44, you are 44” rhythmically to the pulsating pain. Did you know that it is possible to sprain a single butt-cheek?
If you are in the Chennai area and see a woman ever so un-seductively hobbling along while holding on to her left backside lest it falls off, you are in the midst of an aspiring footballer’s middle-aged mother. Bow to the grand matriarch and you will be spared butt-sprain as you get beaten black and blue by tiny things that were little more than a gleam in someone’s eye not too long ago.