I Need a Sumo Wrestling Suit


I Need a Sumo Wrestling Suit right now. I went down to the mailbox yesterday, and was coming back up the driveway. As I tried to cut short my route to the concrete steps leading up to the sidewalk, I caught my right foot on some ivy on the side of the driveway and fell flat on my face and nose.

I had not anticipated proving I have a hard head in that manner. It was my head and nose against four inches of concrete. My head won, I think, although the concrete did extract a matter of revenge when my big nose decided this was an opportunity to be twice as big, at least for a few days.

Now when people say I’m sticking my big nose in their business, they will be absolutely right.

I do have an excuse for my behavior. My peripheral vision has vacated the premises, or at least most of it. It’s the little that remains to mislead me. I forget I don’t have good peripheral vision, because I think I have it, and I don’t.

I hope that makes sense to you, because it doesn’t to me. As long as I look directly at anything, I’m okay, but if I don’t, I’m in trouble, and I found it yesterday.

That brings me to the solution. A sumo suit. I admit I’ll look funny walking around with a sumo suit on, but at least I won’t be hitting my head and my nose.

I’m not sure our cars were made for me wearing sumo suits. Even if I get in and drive down the road, the police will stop me, because I don’t have on my seat belt. Maybe when I explain that I can’t see to buckle up my seat belt, the police will help me do that rather than giving me a ticket.

The double entrance doors at the grocery store are probably wide enough for me to waddle through them, but I’m wondering exactly how I can bend over to get items from the bottom of a shelf. Considering my enlarged size, I’ll probably rub up against some ladies in the aisles, and they will slap my face thinking I’m harassing them. When I get to the checkout register, and my face is flush red from several slappings, I’ll need to explain that to the cashier.

The fellow who takes out my groceries will help me stuff myself into my car, and away I will go. I’m not quite certain how I’ll get the groceries up the basement stairs.

At least I will no longer have a problem going down to get the mail. Maybe that’s not totally accurate. I’m at the stage in my life where disaster seems to be intently looking for me.

Let’s go with the same scenario I faced when I fell. I trip on the ivy, and land on the sumo suit. I’m uninjured, but start bouncing and rolling around. I must remember to have the cell phone in hand.

First I’ll call the EMTs. When I tell them I’ve fallen in my sumo suit and can’t get up, they’ll transfer me over to the psychiatric unit. Having been fortunate enough to stay away from that unit up to now, I’m certain there will be paperwork to be completed before they will send anyone out.

While I’m rolling around down toward the street (the driveway does angle in that direction) as I get to the street, a driver in a car will hit what he/she thinks is a huge rubber ball, and proceed on down the street with a tale to tell their grandchildren.

I’m sure the neighbor’s yard I land in, with him being analytical and all, he will come out and ask me have I considered the fact I am rolling around in his grass that is about to turn green, and I may have damaged it.

He will say just simply helping me to stand up is not helping me at all, and he will get his air compressor to pump air into the suit.

At some point, I will begin to float away like a balloon, and he will call the EMTs, and we know how that will go. When he talks to the psychiatric unit, and they find out I’m not available to fill out the paperwork, there’s nothing they can do. He will probably call the police swat team.

I am concerned when the swat team shoots the air out of my sumo suit, and I’m plunging to earth, I will be reminded that wearing the sumo suit might not have been a good idea.

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