My father, he tells me, is getting this hip replacement because his management strategies to live with the pain have been failing. The better boots, the constrained walk, the pads on chairs, all the tricks that he has used, just aren’t working anymore. So now, while he is as young as possible, it’s time to get the hip replaced.
Of course, this idea is one I was raised with, that with ingenuity and will, painful problems can be managed over time. As the stones pile on, you just adapt, bend, modify
My second favourite joke, after the “three gotcha” story, is one told by Morey Amsterdam.
Guy walks into a haberdashery to buy a suit. Puts on the suit, but it fits bad. One leg is too long.
“Just hold it up with your left hand,” the salesman says
“But this side of the suit rides too high!” says the guy
“Just lift your right shoulder,” offers the salesman
“Now the coat front flaps out!”
“No problem. Just hold it in with your right hand,” explains the salesman.
Guy buys the suit, and is walking down the street, one shoulder high and the other low, one hand across his body holding his side, and one hand holding his pants, leaving him limping.
Two guys see him going down the street.
“Oh, look at that poor guy over there,” one says.
“That’s sad,” says the other. “But, gosh, don’t his suit fit nice!”
There is this story about the guy who went into an establishment that advertised suits for all price ranges and needs. A salesman showed him a suit and the guy complained that the sleeves were too long. The salesman said: “Well what you do is pull them up, get them right where you want them and then hold your arms up here along your sides. The guy said: ” OK, but the pants don’t fit, they’re too long and too baggy.” The salesman said: “Well, pull up the excess and hold your thighs together and then pull the cuffs up to the length you want and hold your knees together and you got it.” The guy says all right and he pays and leaves. As he is ambling down the sidewalk holding his sleeves and his pants up walking hunched over, a couple of old ladies pass by and one says: “Look at the terrible shape that poor boy’s in,” and the other one says: “Yeah, but don’t his suit fit nice.”
We twist ourselves into knots to manage the limits of the suit we get, crippling ourselves in the process.
The idea that one more stone can just be added to the top, that somehow it won’t break the camel’s back, well. .
Too many stones, too many stones.