I’VE BEEN BUSTING MY ASS, LITERALLY.

Some of you who have seen me over the last few days may have been wondering, “Why does Phil always wince like he was slapped in the face when he sits down?” I’ll tell you why. It is because I badly bruised my right buttock. (That’s my right, not yours.) It’s a really funny story, particularly if you’re drunk.

I still live in my grandparents’ house, and my room has a large, old-fashioned window looking out over the park. I noticed that this year, the room is much cooler than any other room in the house. In fact, there was a clearly discernible draft, which consistently rendered my room a good ten degrees chillier. This draft has bothered me. I have actually caught a stuffy nose thanks to the draft. And the worst part is, the thermostat is in the story below, so it does not matter how cool my own room gets, the heater will not switch on.

So I decided to find out where the draft in my room came from, and to seal it once I found out. I suspected a crack in the windowframe. Unfortunately, a large shelf and desk partially obscured the sides of the frame. The shelf and desk came with the house, and try as I might, I could not move them. However, sticking my fingers in the small spaces between the desk and the frame, I did discern some cool air flowing in. Still, I wanted to find the exact spot of entrance. Only one thing to do: Soak the outside of the windowframe with soapy water.

I got the idea from Mr. Wizard, I think. He was looking for a hole in his tire, so he applied some soapy water to it. Where the hole was, bubbles would appear. Now, I couldn’t very well bathe the inside of my room in soapy water, what a mess that would cause. Instead, I thought that washing the outside of the frame would work better. If indeed there was a hole in the frame, I would see a select few soapy bubbles appear on the inside.

This was a brilliant plan, and by brilliant, I mean stupid. There I was, perched atop the painter’s ladder I found inside the garage, spreading suds everywhere. Naturally, I got some on my hands. In my enthusiasm, I may have sloshed some on the rungs of the ladder as well. At some point, my grip slipped, and I not only upset the bucket, but lost my grip on the ladder. I vaguely recall waving my slippery hands about, seeking a handhold. It was futile given that both the purchasee and purchaser of such a handhold was coated in soap. However, I might have been able to concentrate better, if not for the four consecutive rungs of the ladder smacking me in the jaw and face. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! That was the accompanying symphony ringing through my ears as I descended the ladder sans hands.

Once my feet hit the floor, they buckled underneath me. I must have been stunned from all the blows to the face. Anyway, since my legs gave out, I ended falling on my posterior. Hard. I sat there for several minutes, my mouth agape, trying to put my pain into words. I was also trying real hard to close my mouth before a bee flew in. Oh yeah, while the bucket of water and dishwasher detergent did manage not to land on my head, instead opting for a spot about a foot-and-a-half away, some of its contents did hit the mark.

I did manage to get up and walk under my own power within a few minutes. Then I took a look at my ass in the bathroom mirror, and saw the ugly purple bruise in the shape of Abe Lincoln’s head. It’s much bigger than a penny, however. Since the horrible ladder incident, I have been sitting on an NFL air mattress my brother left here on his last visit, and alternating between picking splinters from my chin (Only one or two, but they’re tiny.) and watching movies. (“Dr. Strangelove” is so great!) On the bright side, I’ve been spending all my time in the living room, since that’s where the TV and air mattress are. It’s on the first level of the house, so it’s warm here all the time.