The High Kick

I have an extremely high kick. In fact, I may have been a Rockette in a former life (though in this life, due to my slightly stout stature it would be an impossibility)… the kick is so high it has a name, The Waa-cha! Kick. I have only ever used it for good, such as breaking up dueling gangs, fighting terrorism, and assisting in the demise of communism around the world. However, the altruistic nature of my acrobatic feat ended abruptly last week.


While attempting to display my jungle cat-like prowess to my 6'5 colleague, I lost my balance, resulting in a tragic misfiring. Instead of my foot swinging inches from his face, so close he should have felt the breeze, I thrust my foot with all of my force into his stomach. He sprawled backwards as everyone looked on, eyes wide and hiding chuckles, as I froze in horror. I had physically harmed another human being, and in the most inappropriate of settings. I mean sure, I played rugby in college, but I was always the lamb on the field, never the lion. And though I do have many memories of biting, kicking, and pulling out my sister's hair until she shrieked for mercy (or for mom), that was ages ago. Ok well, months.


Anyway, the boy I Waa-cha! Kicked is apparently heartier than he looks and while a footprint remains just above his lower intestine and appendix, there appears to be no internal damage. At least with him. I, however, am traumatized. I was so tense about it that I had a dream last night that my teeth fell out. MY TEETH! Yikes! Not a good sign. However, I am slowly getting over it, though have been told I am no longer allowed to display my stunts. I keep telling people that it only backfired because my friend moved just before my takeoff, causing me to lose my balance, but apparently that is not the lesson I was supposed to learn...