Little known fact.

I’ve always fantasized about being the guy who saves someone else’s life. You know, the guy you see on the 10 o’clock news accepting a gift from the Mayor for being in front of a building just when it started to smoke. Or the guy who screamed "watch out" right before the construction scaffolding overloaded with cinderblocks made it's way to the sidewalk. Or the guy who managed to reach deep inside himself and throw the perfect sucker-punch (or nut punch) to knock the hold-up weapon under the soda fountains at KFC. And in the end my reward was a big check, a beautiful woman, or a free side of coleslaw. And I would be happy with either three.

However, my moment to shine never presented itself. Instead, I have frantically fished several coins, tacks, and other bite-sized objects out of your mouth; made flying leaps worthy of a Ringling Bros. trapeze artist to prevent you from falling off the bed backwards; and tumbled down stairs and escalators to prevent you from finding out you can’t walk down either.

When I am lying in bed allowing my back to heal I realize that I am so over that fantasy.