Papasan with a Canoli

I write this a week later with the knowledge of my unbalanced toppling into the living room papasan was probably not a very good idea. I had just received my very first canoli to try at the North End of Boston.  We brought back these packages of goodness and were about to settle in to watch a movie and enjoy them.  The movie had stipulations, though.  It had to be one that neither Adam nor Talia had seen.  We found one on Netflix instant and seemed a decent start to a Thriller.  Midway through the movie, when it became obvious that there was no thriller and thriller, but sheer gore and gory Russian accents, I got up to get another canoli.  On my return, the incident occured.  I sat back down into the papasan (as an inexperienced user of such torture devices!).  The papasan toppled to the left, and I flew off of it on my shoulder, still holding tight to the canoli in my right hand, high above my head.

I rubbed my shoulder, regained my prior position in the center of the sphere and continued watching the terrible cinematography of life on the Transsiberia train (something I'd like to travel on one of these days).

Now, several days later, I can recall the curse of the papasan.  My shoulder is still aching in all directions and I can no longer prop myself up on my left hand for any length of time.  There even was a massage at the Inman Oasis (my birthday present with good timing!)... but nothing has erased my battle wounds from sitting in that Papasan.