Grover Arms

People who have been married for a while develop their own language, based on a lifetime of silly conversations and in-jokes.  Jerry and I are no exception.  Comments like, "I went all Grover Arms over the whole thing", or if one of us isn't understanding the other, saying, "Chicken?" are surefire ways to crack us up.

Today, I'll reveal the origin of "Grover Arms".

When I was in college, aerobics classes were all the rage--I'm talking full-on, Jane-Fonda- leotards-and-leg-warmers aerobics.  And, to my eternal shame, I'm compelled to confess that I, too, wore a full-body leotard and leg warmers.  I had all of Jane Fonda's workout videos, and I was still slim enough to enjoy group classes without worrying that I was the flabbiest person there.

Don't judge me.  It was the 80's.

Anyway, my aerobics instructor was a math professor who did the aerobics gig on the side, because he liked to work out.  He was a tall, gangly, swarthy man with black Einstein-esque hair, who typically wore a black, long-sleeved, full-leg body suit.  He wore electric blue accessories--terrycloth headband, wrist bands, running shorts over his leotard, and yes, leg warmers.  He had the longest and skinniest arms and legs I've ever seen on an actual human being.

He was so exuberant, you felt happy just being in the same room with him.  He didn't care if you were hopping on the correct leg, or skipping in the correct direction.  He just wanted you to MOVE.  "Your heart doesn't care what foot you're on, just keep GOING!!" he'd holler, as we took him at his word and bumped into each other and ran over one another in reckless abandon.  Who knew aerobics was a full-contact sport?

Whenever the routine called for us to wave our arms above our heads, his would flop from side to side, independent of each other, just like Grover from Sesame Street:

http://youtu.be/JOF5s9k-cLA

I wonder sometimes if he deliberately hopped on the wrong foot and moved out of sync to the beat to make us feel better about our clumsiness--no one could be THAT awkward naturally.

To this day, whenever I think of someone getting really freaked out over something, I think of them running around with "Grover Arms". 

A large portion of my job in the real world involves perusing medical records.  One diagnosis that always makes me giggle to myself (not out loud, I'm not CRAZY, after all) is "internal derangement".  This is often used as a diagnosis for knee injuries, if the doctor thinks someone might have a meniscus tear or ACL disruption, but doesn't yet have the MRI to confirm it.  Whenever I see that diagnosis, I think of Grover arms, waving toward the sky.

Whenever my teenagers get on my last nerve, I picture myself running out to the pasture, screaming unintelligibly, waving my Grover Arms, freak flag flying high.  It soothes me.  And it's so much better than dusting off the old Jane Fonda videos and trying to figure out where in the heck my waist went when I wasn't looking.