Side note: she is not allowed to wear anything Patriots-related on Sundays. EVER. We discovered early on she was a total jinx. So she is only allowed to wear her Patriots gear the day after a decisive Patriots win.
A month ago I started seeing a chiropractor (this relates, I swear). It started when I was going to get massages more often and finally got lectured by the masseuse that I was a total mess and had to take care of myself. Given our current state of craptacular healthcare, I was unmoved.
Until I couldn’t move.
Seriously, like my entire lower half was in revolt. Every time I stood up, I’d groan like an 80-year-old man. I couldn’t sit on the floor to play with Wee ‘Burb without wanting to cry. And most importantly at the time, I couldn’t work out. And I really need to kick start my weight loss again after plateauing for about two months.
Anyway, I like my chiropractor a lot, although I initially had reservations because he’s clearly younger than me. There’s something disturbing about this phenomenon, really. It started when I found out the OB that delivered Wee ‘Burb was in my same year at college and when I recently got a new dentist and spent the entire exam singing the Doogie Howser theme song in my head, knowing full well I could sing it out loud and the dude wasn’t old enough to get that reference. What? That guy from How I Met Your Mother? Cool.
Ugh, anyway, so I had reservations, but he was offering a great deal that included X-rays and he was just down the street. He had a nice office, unlike others that I had gone to in strip malls (nothing like the smell of nail salon chemicals to relax you). So we’re simpatico, he’s a nice affordable guy, his receptionist played with Wee ‘Burb once when we had a daycare issue and she had to join me. I actually like going there.
So, I go in and take off my coat to reveal my Welker jersey and he literally stops in his tracks. I think he audibly gasped and then went “rub it in, why don’t you?”
I’m thinking he’s referring to something to do with the Vikings, and if any of you follow football, you know this could mean ANYTHING. The epic collapse of Favre’s career, his inability to keep his junk in his copious Levis, I don’t know. It’s been a rough year for the fans, man, I get it. But come on!
So he points to a sign over the door that says Packer Parking. The Patriots had just stomped the Packers not 24 hours ago. Now, normally, I’m a bit of a rager when it comes to my fandom. I’ll take on just about anyone in defense of my team. But I deflated…because, come on, this guy has the power to put me in some sort of death chokehold the likes of which you only see in Bond movies…you don’t piss a guy off like that!
I tell him I didn’t know, and he allows me in the door, but the whole time he’s like “oh if we had Aaron Rodgers, things would have been different.” And against every fiber of my being I’m like “totally, yup, one game without him…definitely ruins the season…yup” as he twists my neck.
We leave fairly amicably.
I show up the next visit and hold my hands up like I’m at the airport security “look, no guns or Patriots clothing.” The universal sign of surrender, right?
And he bites and asks how I am doing and I tell him, in all honestly, I was really sore after our last session. I ask him straight out “did you give me the Packers special?” and he kind of grins and goes “Stephanie, I can only say I didn’t INTEND anything, I can’t actually control what I do when you come in wearing Patriots gear.”
Now, that’s not something you want to hear from a man who’s holding your spine. But in a weird way, it made me trust him more. What does that say about me?
2 comments:
Love this story! And that picture? Precious.
Wee Burb is adorable in that picture.
Sometimes you just can't catch a break. Who knew that the nice, professional, with-it chiro would be a Packer fan?
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