Right Knee's Revenge

My feet have carried the rest of me 28,105 days,
and now my knees are beginning to resent
the adventures.

My back is not too happy, either.

Today my right knee, RK, decided to
announce its growing resistance to following
feet's directions.  The proclamation came as I
stepped out of a very small car no one my
age should occupy, right knee rebelled, I 
heard two distinct popping sounds that
scared birds out of a nearby tree, felt a
hot poker jabbed into the flesh just below
the mid-leg joint, and noted that RK
refused to bend for the necessary exit 
maneuver.

The gymnastic moves necessary to exit
the toy car are sights to behold even when all
the moving parts cooperate.  But when RK
acts like a spoiled, pouting child, catching
all the other joints and muscles by surprise,
the result can be catastrophically amusing.

"Can I help you up, sir?"

"No," I told him.  "I'm just checking
the underside of my car.  Been a while
since I've looked.  Wanted to make sure
everything's working properly."

"Right."

I noticed that he glanced
back over his shoulder as he moved
away across the parking lot.  He tried
to hide his smile, but I could read his
20-year-old, agile mind.  "Poor old guy.
Must have some dementia.  He thinks 
he's at home in his garage."

The underside of the little car looked
pretty good, by the way, but the
asphalt was really hot in that parking
lot.

Come to think of it, the hot pavement
did make my back feel better.