(DISCLAIMER: My father is a cancer survivor. My mother is a two-time cancer survivor. My grandfather, two uncles and an aunt have dealt with cancer. I have nothing but love and respect for people who are fighting, or who have fought cancer.
However . . . having been through multiple cancer "events" I also have developed a rather irreverent sense of humor about it. Not that I wasn't irreverent before.)
I'm watching the Tour de France with my husband, because he inexplicably sets the television in our bedroom to tune into Versus every morning during the Tour de France, and he brooks no arguments about changing the channel. This is inexplicable behavior because, while my husband owns a bike, I have never actually seen him ride it.
The commentator (the British one - not the hick who pronounces "France" like "Lance") mentions that the riders have been "in the saddle" for five hours, riding up a steep incline, and it hits me: is it possible that one of Lance Armstrong's testicles WILLED itself to get a dread disease because it was tired of all of the abuse and saw no other exit strategy?
SUPPLEMENTAL DISCLAIMER: People, I ain't got nothin' but love and respect for Lance in particular, and cancer survivors in general. And I'm fairly sure that Lance himself would appreciate the joke, given that he checks into hotels as "Juan Pelota" (AKA "One Ball") and opened a coffee house in Austin under the same name . . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment