Buns of Steel

Neither can I. How about you?

Buns of Steel?

 

I had been working in the garden on a rare sunny day and was enjoying a well-earned break for coffee and the morning paper.

Ron came over and prepared to sit down beside me, then stopped and observed, "There's something sticking out of your back pocket."

Right. I had been trimming branches and had put the clippers in my pocket in case I needed them again.

"It's the pruning shears. I forgot about them."

"Doesn't that hurt?" I pulled the shears - pointed side down - out of the pocket and held them up.

"Didn't feel a thing. But it's used to pain."

"You have calluses on your bum," Ron concluded, sat down and reached for a section of the paper.

I prefer to think of my bottom as 'bionic' but in either case, it can take a lot of abuse.