You want me to put my right foot where?

I have been asked by numerous people and have heard others requesting an update on how my party-planning skills help up last weekend for my daughter. I think it's safe to say everything went pretty well. That is, no one got hurt. Not call 9-1-1-hurt anyway. If I had to do it again — and I do in about 360 days — I might revisit my decision to give let the girls do 5-hour energy shots after dinner, but other than that, no worries, unless you count my decision to personally blow up 53 balloons Saturday afternoon. Why 53? Because 54 is pretentious.
Oh, I also might forgo taking part in any Twister-related activities next year. I gave it shot Saturday, going up against a limber 8-year-old from Balaton. I knew she would provide stiff competition when, before the game started, she was bragging about how well she does the splits. I let that get into my head. She was playing me before the first spin was even made. I lasted about eight spins, until I was required to move my right foot around my right arm and tuck it back behind my right hand. Hurts just writing that. I was down after than. Literally. For like five minutes. But the kids got a laugh out of it, our sports editor got some pictures out of it and your truly got a slightly-sprained hamstring out of it.
Good times.