The Comfy Corner

I had a real flair for the dramatic growing up. As did, I suppose, most people who grew up to become actors. But, I believe, everyone kind of has a flair for the dramatic when they're young, right? I mean, just listen to the cacophony of children on the subway every afternoon screaming for their "passy" or their "baba" or whatever. Or, God-help-me, listen to those kids at brunch on the weekends in Tribeca. "I SAID I WANT OYSTEEEERRRS!!!" I swear, that whole neighborhood becomes one giant, bougie Gymboree on the weekends. Thankfully, most people grow up and learn how to tame that dramatic beast inside themselves and only release the drama-beast when they are drunk or heavily medicated after surgery. Actors, on the other hand, have the unique ability to be dramatic about things while completely sober and sans-incision (but that clearly doesn't stop us from going under the knife or drinking alcohol Lindsay Lohan). In any event, the message I'm trying to convey here, perhaps unsuccessfully, is that it is perfectly healthy to be dramatic sometimes while you're sober. Just get it out of your system, y'all! Drama is a dish best served piping hot. So go for it! Do what I did the first time I got a charley horse.

I was seven. I had just cozied into the top bunk of my bed. My mother had tucked me in burrito-style, like I prefer, and turned out the lights. I had waited the standard couple of seconds before I turned around to pull out my secret stash of toy cars from under my pillow (I liked to play cars even after I had already been tucked in. Rebel Chang) and that's when it happened. Searing pain shot through both of my legs. It was like the devil himself had reached his red, hot hands through my skin, grabbed hold of both of my calf muscles, and started slowing ripping them apart, cackling all the while. I screamed out in pain and horror as I fell out of my bed. I rolled around for a bit clutching my shins, hot tears streaming down my face. My life was flashing before my eyes, all seven years of it. No more pushing sticks down the creek, no more riding my bike around the cul-de-sac in tight circles, no more slip n' slides! In the words of the Backstreet Boys, it hit me harder than a shark attack! My mind was exploding with pain, I knew nothing except that I needed to seek immediate medical attention. I made use of my only two working limbs and I army-crawled out of my room. Every pull of my arms caused an equal jolt of pain through my legs. It was torture, but I knew that I needed to see my Dr. Dad right now because I knew these legs needed immediate amputation! That was the only solution for this brand of pain, I knew it. So I crawled down the stairs crying out for the whole neighborhood to hear, "I'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN!!! I'LL *sniff* NEVER *sniff* WALK *cough* AGAIIINNNN!!!" I pulled myself into the living room with the last bit of strength my arms had left in them. It was like the final scene of Lord of the Rings when Frodo has to make that final push to get the ring into the volcano. And there sat my family, all staring at me drop-jawed. I saw their blurry outlines through my tears and I reiterated "I CAN'T WALK! I'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN!" They didn't seem to understand me! Why weren't they rushing me off to the hospital or bursting into tears? Their baby boy was dying!  Perhaps, I conjectured, they were all born without emotions! This is when the worst thing that could have possibly happened, happened. They all started laughing. A look of confusion spread across my snotty, tear-stained, seven-year-old face. They were salting the wound. The louder they laughed, the more my legs hurt. Didn't they know that?

My dad eventually calmed me down and explained to me what a charley horse was and that I just had to stretch it out for a bit. I got better. No amputation necessary. And now, my family just loves to tell this story at the dinner table. Okay, was I being a bit dramatic? Yes. But isn't that how we ALL feel when we get charlie horses?! Like we'll never walk again? I was just responding to my pain honestly! And I feel like people don't do that often enough. We stifle our response to pain because we are afraid that we might come across as what? Weak? Well, I have no fear of seeming weak. I freely admit that I am a delicate flower. When a doctor asks, "On a scale of 1 to 10 how is your pain?" I say, "11! FIX ME!!!" I'm that guy that says "ouch ouch ouch!" before people even touch me or if someone maybe came close to stepping on my toe. Because I don't wanna hold it in. I want to feel. And to feel is to experience, y'all. So go ahead. Throw your temper tantrums. Whine about your petty problems. Get it out of your system so that you have a clear head to actually deal with things like an adult. And also so that you don't become a drug addict or something. It's healthy to feel emotions, I promise. Stay comfy y'all.