That confounded knee is at it again. Three weeks after the kneecap-repairing surgery that has left Sharon Keane in a stylish red cast, she's returning to Kaiser Permanente for some more knee-screwing action. This surgery was necessitated when Sharon fell on her left knee, while shuffling around the house, which loosened the screw holding the artificial kneecap. The screw was itself necessary because Sharon fell at the preschool she works at, gimping along on her new artificial knee. I tell you, this time I'm just going to steal a wheelchair from Kaiser and then tie her into it, James-Caan-in-Misery-style, just to keep her from reinjuring herself trying to do work around the house.
But I'm not really disappointed in Sharon. No, the one who really let me down was the artificial knee. What's wrong with you, artificial knee? We took you into our home, Sharon took you into her body, and this is the thanks we get? We always treated you just like you were a real knee, gave you your own pant leg, tried to make you feel at home. But, no, you've just gotta be a rebel. You've gotta shatter at any small impact. You've gotta stay up way past your bedtime, aching. I guess maybe you miss your surgeon friends in the Kaiser operating room, but that's simply no excuse for this kind of behavior.
I know we always told you that you were extra-special because you were artificial, knee, but I've got news from you. You and your kind, you're a dime a dozen. OK, maybe more like $43,000 a dozen, but you get my drift. This HMO brought you into this world, and it can take you right back out. You better get your little patella in line, or I know one little joint that will be going right back into his fiberglass cast with no dinner. Or Vicodin.
In closing, artificial knee, screw you. Literally, I guess. And do a better job of it, Yamamoto - those old screws sucked.
In keeping with Sharon's preschool-centric lifestyle, my younger sister Kelly has begun referring to the artificial joint as her "pretend knee."