Of splitting mauls and man buns

The head flew all the way off where the red

part is split. I shoved it back together and

it's stuck on there again, but not to be 

trusted.

I broke another splitting maul today, It's the second one in the last couple of years. I had broken this one before and repaired it with Gorilla Glue, which I highly recommend. It held together for at least two seasons, but this time I guess the maul is done for and time to find a new one.
     It's amazing the kinds of thoughts something like this provokes and I found myself smiling, quite pleased with myself. Think about this: How many 76-year-old men do you think have broken a heavy splitting maul or are even capable of doing that? I know a few, but I am willing to bet most people don't.
    So, in that sense I felt pretty proud of myself. These old muscles can break a splitting maul. It's a "bring-it" moment. World-beating for an instant.
    Then the thought went further. There's a guy I wish could have seen that or at least known about it. He's a smarmy little male nurse at Mat-Su  Regional Medical center who in condescending tones you might use to speak to a childlike, senile, weak old man told me I couldn't have a procedure I was there for because I had no one to take care of me afterward. I half expected him at one point to pat me on the head and say something like, "It's okay, old man." All the while I was fighting the urge to grab him by his man bun and swing him around the room. He eventually called in his supervisor who told me I could either leave and reschedule or they would have to hold me there for 12 hours until they were sure the anesthetic had worn off. Mind you, I have had this procedure several times and what happens is I go home and sleep for a couple of hours and wake up just fine, thank you.
      Given those choices I started dressing to go home. As I stormed out he said, "What are you thinking right now?" The whole episode flashed in my mind for a moment and then I said "You don't want to know what I am thinking" and rushed out of the place. I'm probably lucky my reaction didn't blow up into a heart attack. They probably would have made me leave for that, too for the same reason.
     Anyway I'd like to see that little twit spend a day with me and see what he can do. I wouldn't do it unless he had someone to take care of him at home later.
    So, the broken maul in a sense gave my self back to me. But, in the long run now there are foods I still can't swallow. Nobody wins. But I do get to go look for a new maul tomorrow.
    MORE: A friend suggested on facebook I contact the manufacturer. Here is my response: Heck, I am going to hang it on the trophy wall as a testament to the fact that after three quarters of a century I still have enough strength and dexterity to break a heavy splitting maul.
EVEN MORE: The very next day, Found a new one, 12 pounds and all steel with the head welded on. Don't think I will be breaking this one. But I bet I get through a couple of tough rounds that wouldn't break for the old one.