Oh, Porter. Look at you. You’ve been through hell and high water, and you still look steely-eyed and determined–and gorgeous.
As for me, I feel every one of my 52 years and then some. A lot of “somes.” I have popped the muscle relaxer and the ibuprofen and fired up the heating pad to maximum velocity. The photos are now exporting from Lightroom to a subfolder on the desktop.
It will take a while.
I thought I took 500 or so photos. It was 706. How in the heck did you take that many, my husband asked me.
I guess it had something to do with the 110 or so contestants and trying to get decent photos of each of them. I try to hold my camera very steady as I am shooting and, Porter, my shoulders are now screaming at me. And my back and hips. It was a long night.
I keep thinking of that Danny Glover tagline in the Lethal Weapon movies. “I am getting too old for this sh*t.” Danny, you and me both, my friend.
I know my various aches and pains, as loudly as they are screaming at me presently, are nothing compared to what you’ve been through, Sergeant, what with being shot and stabbed and water-boarded and beaten. You take it all with such amazing toughness and stoicism and then promise in the end to kill every last one of the bastards and rescue the girl and you manage to do it!
I don’t want you to kill anybody, just put a can of whup-ass on this pain, if possible. I trust you to be able to do it, too.
I believe in the Powah of the Portah.
Rescue me, JP, as only a genuine Armitage hero can . . .