Just when you think there's nothing to blog about...

 "What'ya think you'll blog about this time?" Brad asked during the hour-long drive to an MMA event. I stared out the window, debating the question. I've been to quite a few of these affairs now...I would never go so far as to call them "old hat," but I have definitely adjusted. I still enjoy people-watching but the shock-factor has lessened. When it comes to wardrobe choices, you are either promoting, peacock-ing or being practical. Our friend, Shay, looked like she'd stepped off the set of "Outlander." Kristie downgraded her stripper boots for comfy Converse, and me? In no mood to be misinterpreted, I wore a plain navy tee. Nothing to see here, folks! ("I beg to differ," winked my husband who appreciated my strategy of trying to appear invisible, "I see you," he whispered. "My eyes are up here, buddy," I hissed, nudging my naughty husband.)

Speaking of views, ours were outstanding! Used to standing precariously on tip-toe, balancing on flimsy foldable chairs, I couldn't quite get over the luxury of being right near the octagon. The only thing between us and the combat area were the ring girls who I found absolutely adorable in their total lack of diva-ish-ness. They giggled. Took selfies of each other and were totally excited to be a part of the action. At one point, they were handed a championship belt to present to the winner of the next match. Although I'd seen those belts on television countless times, I'd never really given any thought to them...I was delighted to see that the inside lining was constructed of furry fabric! The juxtaposition struck me as silly...this gladiator-type trophy of blood-lust and violence sitting softly, snuggly against the straining, sweating stomach of the victor. Do you think the armor from the Renaissance was fur-lined for comfort?

Brad offered, at one point, to go check out the refreshment stand. Imagine my disappointment when he returned with a beer. Not to worry, Kristie had brought her kids so I leaned back to see what I could scavenge from the young ones. Fortunately, the spotlight hit Cooper's nachos at just the right time, saving me from certain disaster. Who puts ketchup on tortilla chips? I had to make do with Kristie's generous offer of a tiny breath mint. I dropped one in Brad's hand. "What is it?" he asked, eyes on the match. "Acid," I told him. He turned to eye up my shirt again. "Hope you don't get caught," he said, popping the mint, "that would be a big bust!"

A sudden commotion from the ring caught our attention. I gasped as the official looked to be giving one of the competitors the Heimlich Maneuver. "Is he choking?" I asked Brad. He glanced at me to see if I was joking. Seeing that I was genuinely worried, he answered solemnly. "No."  Confused, I studied the scene intently. "Is a vertebrae out of alignment?" "No-oo," Brad said again. "Is he popping his shoulder back into place?" Looking very uncomfortable, my husband leaned in closer and spoke softly in my ear. "He's trying to drop them back into place."

"Them?"

Oh. Them.

Wow.

I did not know THAT could happen.

I sat back in my seat, stunned.

"Crazy, right?" Kristie whispered over my shoulder. I glanced back at her. 

"No," I answered, "that's nuts!"