ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Betoota Heights man Tom McGaynor made sure to pre-crack his knees before settling his 18-month-old daughter, Poppy, into her cot yesterday night.
After successfully getting her to drift off during the typical 40-minute back-patting session, Tom remembered his hard-learned lesson from previous nights. The whip crack of a knee joint completely undoing all that effort.
“I need to do my pre-crack,” Tom muttered to himself as got up to make the bedtime bottle.
“After Friday’s debacle.”
With the precision of a well-oiled machine, Tom dropped into a stealthy half-squat in the dimly lit kitchen. With his hand on the caesarstoe barre, he lowered his ageing meatsack toward earth.
A series of muted pops followed, echoing through the otherwise peaceful room like distant gunshots, but thankfully not enough to disturb little Poppy.
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s the good shit. Oh.”
In the squat, he widened his knees and felt the powerful but rare hip crack. Like a howitzer working a hill covered in Germans in the next suburb over, two soft booms filled the kitchen.
Tom like out a groan that was almost a moan.
As a bit of a bonus, as Tom stood up, he went up on his tip toes and both ankles crunched and cracked like a Falcon being reversed into a pole.
With his pre crack routine complete, the formula bottle was microwaved for 20 seconds, shaken, and taken in.
More to come.
