There was a time when I was about 13 when we went to the meadows to dance to Madonna in the shallows. We spent hours perfecting our moves. After a while we became aware of some older boys from school approaching us, with broad grins on their faces. We felt very stupid, as they made a bee line for us.
One of the trio grabbed my friend to throw her into the deeper part of the river, and as he bent to do so his shiny shorts presented his backside to my foot, so I went for a Kung Fu Dancing kick on his bottom to save my friend from her untimely, undignified dunking.
Sadly his shorts created a force field and my foot snapped back, in shock.
My friend was let go into the fast flowing deep river, but emerged with her hair all over her face laughing.
We ran off, my foot swelled, we hobbled, my foot became a football. Hospital confirmed I’d broken it. My friend and her curly haired tormentor went on to become a loved up couple. My saving her was all in vain.
What’s the moral of this playful story?
