So after said car accident, I went to the chiropractor for the first time.
Apparently, chiropractors are a big deal. I didn't know.
They can ease ear infections, alleviate menstrual cramps, remedy indigestion, and they're working on a cure for cancer.
They also make me fart a lot.
See, early in our marriage, My Man and I decided to enforce a strict "pooter whenever you darn well feel like it" policy. Unless it's particularly bad, in which case you'd better leave the room. Or at least warn each other. But for the most part, it's generally Free Toots around here.
And sometimes I forget that other people may not abide by said policy.
So back to my back.
I'm told that the accident whacked the curve right out of my neck. This is bad. You're not supposed to have a straight neck. So I've been going veryveryoften for alignments and physical therapy. Apparently I'm a sucker for pain.
Yesterday, I had my first dose of deep tissue massage (to work out all the soft tissue scars that won't let me bend my neck. Since I generally like bending my neck, I agreed.)
First there's the question of what to wear. Or not. They said to "undress to the level of your comfort." Well, lady, if it were that easy, I'd wear my sweats. Or perhaps a Snuggie. But then they might write "prude" under my patient notes, and I'd feel dumb.
So yesterday, with Scentsy burning and some nice Chopin in the background, she instructed me to "go ahead and get between the sheets." And then she leaves the room.
I had to make a quick decision, and decided to strip to my underwear.
(I can't wait to see what google searches will come up with for this post ...)
Feeling slightly kinky, I told her she could come back in. Hopefully it was too dark to see my blush.
Then there's the trouble of what to talk about - or not. I mean, we'd just met, and she's rubbing me all over with oils. I might as well know her favorite color.
Finally I just shut up and let myself enjoy it. And then ... I felt it.
A little bubble descending. That would totally ruin the Scentsy.
So then I'm alternately clenching and trying to "relax" without stinking up the place. I was practically sweating with effort. Not only will I be labeled a prude, but a gaseous one at that. I might have to switch chiropractors.
But success was had, and no flatulence was expelled. Forty-five minutes of victory.
Feeling awfully proud of myself, I got dressed and waited for the doctor for my adjustment. And -
I might have to switch after all.