Two sad things that happened at the annual FiC picnic today: my kite didn't fly, and David Wee tore a tendon in his finger from catching a football.
Unsuccessful flight: There simply wasn't enough wind to pick it up and stabilize it. I stepped in a pile of duck poop from running all around the grass during my attempts to fly the darn thing. Thanks Tim for being my helpful yet confused assistant.
The power of Wee: Did I mention how strong this guy is? He tore a stinkin tendon, yet he said he didn't experience any pain. The top portion of his index finger jutted out like mad, so we all thought that it was a broken finger. Anyways, we went to the emergency room at Alta Bates, which is a complete misnomer because they make you wait for hours. I overheard this one girl in there who said that she's been waiting for three hours but still hasn't seen a doctor. Dave is okay, now equipped with a splint on his finger which he has to wear for six weeks.
I laughed out loud when I read Richard's xanga. Looks like there's something worse than stepping in duck crap, which is sitting in duck crap. Poor poor Tim.