I thought boycotting the swing was slight overkill but abided just in case; I didn't want to hear about it till the day I died. Besides, Jimmy's always right so it's easier to just comply from the start.
Caution waned for almost six weeks post-op until family came over for dinner one afternoon. That's when I caved, seeing my sister on the deck in the shade drifting back and forth like the ebb and flow of an ocean tide. By the time Dani joined her, I threw in the towel and joined the afternoon slumber. Never considering the fact that we three might be overtaxing the old original bolts, we swung in ignorant bliss...until...PLOP.
Once again Jimmy was right. My side of the swing gave way, abruptly plunging me a foot down. Fortunately all was well but the swing's days were becoming numbered, sparking a shopping spree for a new one.
I just can't get rid of our old swing, she still swings wonderfully, not one rubber strap is broken and, how shall I say, it fits my behind like a glove. I love my new wooden lift, but it's still fun to throw caution to the wind and risk gliding on our old swing-a-ding-ding. You never know what's going to happen, which keeps things spicy and on the edge in our otherwise quiet home.