Sometimes when I’m just lounging around watching TV and a commercial comes on, I suddenly sit up and punch myself in the arm. Why? To get my body’s attention, of course.
“Body,” I say to it with a frown, “what have you done for me lately?” Then I bring up the same old spat. “Did we ever became a world-class horse rider competing in the Olympics with a pretty pony, like we planned back in fifth grade?” I shake my head at my inert, muscle-free form. “No. No, we did not.”
After watching the clip below, however, I’m thinking I might have been a teensy bit hard on my body, taking it to task like that. I mean, just look at that tank-sized white blood cell charging after that pissy little dot of bacteria. Wow! It’s like the Star Destroyer going after the Millenium Falcon in the middle of that astroid belt, only this time, the Empire catches the Falcon before it can hide. Git ’em, Darth!
My final thought on all this? Maybe — just maybe — my slouchy, couch-dependent body has been taking damn good care of me all along. BOOM.
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