Monday, May 21, 2007

I feel all dirty inside. But my back doesn't hurt.

I appreciate awkward situations more than most people. I tried to change early on in my life when various and assorted men didn’t appreciate my profound love of being wildly inappropriate, but resistance was futile. I yam what I yam and it takes a bigger man than me to make me feel uncomfortable.

Last week I met that man.

It all started when I jacked up my back upon lifting some rice cakes from the trunk of my car. Typically I would whine to Mr. Man until he rubbed the hurt away, but as he is currently a cripple, I found myself whining to a complete stranger.

A chiropractor.

As I generally have a pretty dim view of traditional Western medicine, you might assume that means I’m a big fan of the back-crackers. You would be crazy wrong. It is my considered opinion that chiropractors should be forced to wear wizard hats and mood rings and should never, in any situation, be referred to as doctor.

Unless you are a chiropractor, in which case I love them and want to be one when I grow up.

This particular practitioner of bone popping came highly recommended from someone who must secretly hate me. “He’s really good,” she said. It’s my own fault for not asking what exactly he was good at. For all I know she was referring to his mad tightrope walking skills.

So I walk in and immediately I’m freaking out because the OCD Chick in me noticed all his magazines were in a giant, messy blob on the table and it was first thing in the morning. That could only mean that he left the night before knowing full well his magazines were a disaster. What kind of person does that?

Evidently a chiropractor.

It was all down hill from there.

While filling out the papers his receptionist expertly explained to me by saying, “This un here is so he can treat you and this un here is so he can git paid by your insurance and this un here is about that new hippa,” I heard the unmistakable sounds of Peter Frampton coming from behind closed doors.

You’re thinking, Hey Sher…. Peter Frampton is all good. What’s the big woo?

I’ll tell you what the big woo is, Jack Leg. It wasn’t so much a Frampton Comes Alive CD as it was My Chiropractor Trying to Come Alive with his very own guitar. Yeah. I’m not even making that up. He was having a little jam session and playing so loud that had he been even a little good at it, I would have been inspired to flick my Bic and maybe even throw my panties on the counter.

When finally he put down his axe and came to usher me into his tiny pretend doctor room, I was anxious yet optimistic that despite the signs of unprofessional madness all around me, he would be capable of fixing what ailed me.

The fact that he grabbed me, whirled me around, tucked my shirt up under my bra and bent me over, all before we even said howdy, should have been an indication that perhaps I made a bad health care decision. I just figured it must be the international chiropractic hello much like improper groping is the way cops and dentists have always said hello to me.

“Climb up here and lie face down,” he said, obviously pleased he had chosen a profession that gave him the opportunity to say that to women on a daily basis. Like a good girl I complied, only to be thanked by having him pull my pants so far down it was clear he felt my back pain was coming from a freak vagina injury.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” I don’t want to kiss and tell, but that is a question I’ve been asked by every man with whom I’ve ever been intimate. All one of them. (Mr. Man likes it when we play the Pretend Sher Was a Virgin When We Met game.)

Always the delicate Southern petunia, I answered, “Sweet Jesus! Hell yes it hurts when you do that!”

So he did it some more.

“We’re going to put an ice pack on your back, but you can’t have anything between it and your skin,” he said as I tried to look fully at ease with my shirt around my ears and my pants around my knees.

“Won’t that give me frost bite?”

His answer, and I swear this is actually what he said was, “Maybe it will and maybe it won’t.”

Lying there listening to the sounds of his weird rapist breathing and inhaling the combination of Aspercreme and Patchouli, I wondered if I was actually being treated for back pain or being violated by a thirty-something who was losing his hair and could only get women by pretending he knew what he was doing.

Once my back was approximately the temperature of Walt Disney’s head, he moved in for the kill. He twisted me around in a position I’ve only been in one other time in my life and that involved Tequila, a much younger man and a series of pulleys.
He snuggled up so close to me I was certain that any minute the lights would dim, a disco ball would drop from the ceiling and Marvin Gaye would start singing, “If you feel like I feel, baby...then come on. Let’s get it on…”

He tucked my knees in his crotch, held onto my butt and pulled me so close and so hard that were my tubes not tied, I think it’s reasonable to assume I could have been impregnated with chiropractor sperm.

Suffice it to say that I did not return for my follow up appointment when he told me, “I’d really like to see you again this afternoon, but I’m going to be out of town. How about tomorrow?”

I think Blue Cross may have paid for the worst date of my life.

Sign Your Name Across My Heart. Remember this one? Oooo-eeeee. Gotta love those 80's boys who were so manly in such a girlie kind of way.

Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
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Jami said...

At least it wasn't Aspercreme and Hai Karate. With bad Wint-O-Green Life Saver breath. Been there, done that, not ever happening again outside prison.

And can you give me any more info on the Tequila and pulley position? Strictly as a research thing, you know.

And just how is your back now? I still say tequila is a very good way to make it feel better. No, not applied topically.

Sher said...

OMG. Hai Karate. How old are we that we can even say that?

Ew. Wint-O-Green. The worst of all the fake candies.

The Tequila and pulley thing will be explained in detail in the book on which I am currently working. Find me an agent and I'll reveal the secret to love Drunken Redneck style.

LarryLilly said...

I have a bad back, made worse by camping these past 4 nights, and have had 2 back surgeries so far, but after reading this, I wont go the bone doc route. I can just place a placard on my lap saying, "have lots of cash, no travelers checks", and sit on the curb down by the bus station. I am sure I can get rolled, and maybe for less money than your co-pay.

Yeah, whats the story about the pulleys. I have the tequila. Like she said, for research LOL.

Jami said...

I'm not saying how old I am, but I do remember the 1950s. It's the 1970s I'm still a little hazy on.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for the really good chick advice. I will put it to use soon! I've been working on the river for a week (no computer)and just returned today. So I just read it today. Oh, and when you tell them about the Redneck Tequila and pulley game, don't forget to mention the 3 bungee cords, and the hot sauce. You know.

Sher said...

Oh I got rolled all right and not in a good way either. I've been creeped out for days about that guy and forcing everyone who even stands close to me to hear about what a troll he was.

Regarding the super fantastic and completely secret pulley trick, I must remind you that you can read all about it in the book I'm writing. Unless you can find the other party and get him to talk. Which you can't.

Does anyone remember the 70's?

First of all, how are you supposed to stalk me when you are on a river? Think man, think.

I did forget the bungee cords, but those of us from North Carolina don't use hot sauce. We substitute cough syrup.

If there are further hillbilly excursions, I may be forced to accept other stalker applications. You've been warned.

Nancy said...

....and this was a "friend" that sent you to him? Time to re-evaluate that friendship.

I have had great success with my chiropractor ... but then again, SHE has never hit on me.

Once I turned forty, I began to seek out all female medical professionals ... men won't ever "get it" when we describe symptoms.

Try again Sher, the good ones really can help you . =)

Sher said...

Here in the Land of Milo and RV's, female chiropractors do not exist. That's why I am forced to go to men who poke around in places they got no business poking.

Poor Sher.

Jami said...

Dang! If you'd mentioned the hot sauce and bungee cords earlier, it would have been obvious. Although here in Texas, we ... uh, that is ... they use bristly rope instead of bungee cords but I'm sure the rest is the same ... if there's also a spatula or a yardstick involved.