Remember what a wonderful feeling it was to spin and spin, becoming light-headed, brain-scrambled, wonky-eyed and finally collapsing on the ground to let everything settle down? And how fast you wanted to get up and do it again? And remember what the adult(s) present would warn? Don't do that, or you'll make yourself "drunk." Bad warning, adults. If this is what it feels like to be drunk, then I want more!
I figure as long as I was in a good clear space, with no danger of hitting my head on a table or a rock, spinning around until I made myself drunk was a pretty harmless form of entertainment. Of course, these days I guess you have to make sure the little tyke is wearing a protective helmet of some kind, plus knee- and elbow-pads. Naturally, all that protection will seriously cut down on speed of spin, wind resistance, and trajectory, but we had no such worries. We were only limited by the space around us and the speed at which our little legs and arms could launch and maintain a good twirl.
Ah, spin-drunk. Such bliss! Such a feeling of well-being! Like being tickled from the inside out. Free. No need for batteries, wires, or joy-sticks. Plus, no nasty hang-over headaches afterwards. I love watching GrandBoy enjoy his first spin-drunk experience - the staggers, the false attempts at trying to stand and walk. Fun for him and a delight for anyone watching.
Alas, it's the kind of thing that age, height, and weight bring to an end. In fact, it's the kind of thing GrandMarys try to avoid at all cost in order to keep the bones in one piece. But watching GrandBoy enjoy the feel-good experience of being spin-drunk brings back wonderful, carefree memories of my spin-drunk days. Spin on, young man. Spin on.
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