Kenneth Faried slaved away at the stovetop as Brahms’ piano concerto #2 in B-flat major played in the background. A loaf of the finest artisan sourdough lay on the counter next to a quantity of 20-year aged cheddar, both waiting to be consumed in the form of grilled cheese sandwiches. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a bell.
“Kenneth, darling!” The weak cry accompanied the bell’s tinkling from the bedroom on the second floor. Putting the burner on low heat, Faried hustled upstairs, to be greeted by a sadly familiar sight.
JaVale McGee’s lanky frame lay in his bed, swaddled in frilly pink blankets, his head resting on a similarly styled pillow, looking miserable. Upon seeing his companion, his face fell further.
“What’s wrong, Java Bean?”
JaVale put on a face of exaggerated sadness. “I thought I told you to put on the nurse outfit, Kenneth. How are you supposed to take care of me if you can’t even dress the part?”
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not wearing that silly thing. Now, what’s really bothering you?”
JaVale continued as if he hadn’t heard. “And it’s so quiet up here! I can only make out the faintest melodies. Brahms, isn’t it? You know how I love his works, and it pains me so greatly to have the pleasure of enjoying them withheld.”
“If you want to enjoy the music, you will come downstairs. Now hurry up and tell me what’s really wrong before the sandwiches burn.”
“It’s my leg, my poor leg Kenneth! I fear that I shall never play basketball again, so dire is my condition! I weep!” The 7-foot center grabbed his embroidered handkerchief, put it over his face, and made weak sobbing noises.
Faried smiled. “Your leg, huh? I’m sure I’ve got a remedy for a third leg right here with me, if you allow me to administer it!” he said as he climbed into the bed.