My favorite exercise is a cross between a lunge and a crunch.
It’s called lunch.
As I pulled into the gas station, I noticed a woman trying to push her car toward the pump. Having always considered myself a Good Samaritan, I parked and joined her in pushing her car.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m giving you a hand,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m stretching before my run.”
“Doctor, I’d like you to evaluate my 13-year-old son.”
“OK: He’s suffering from a transient psychosis with an intermittent rage disorder, punctuated by episodic radical mood swings, but his prognosis is good for full recovery.”
“How can you say all that without even meeting him?”
“I thought you said he’s 13?”
Many years ago I had stopped in to bring my girlfriend some pizza while she was babysitting.
We received a call that her grandmother had been taken to the hospital, so I agreed to watch the children, so she could meet her family at the hospital.
Well, the parents were at a movie and these were the days before cell phones, so I couldn’t get in touch with them. I thought I was doing pretty well, though. At bedtime I sent the kids upstairs to bed and settled down to watch some TV.
One child kept creeping down the stairs, but I just kept sending him back to bed.
At 9 pm the doorbell rang, it was the next-door neighbor, asking whether her son was there.
I said, “No.”
Just then a little head appeared over the banister and shouted, “I’m here, Mom, but he won’t let me go home!”