It was a sad state of events for me yesterday. Truly sad. It's now painfully apparent that I'm officially a full fledged member of the "Old Woman" club. Until yesterday I wasn't really bothered by it. Yesterday, "old" was just another word...the opposite of "young". No big wow. Well it's a big fuckin' wow now. (That just made me think of "how now brown cow"...is that weird?)
Yesterday I woke up with my back sooooo stiff I could barely walk. I had done absolutely nothing the day before that should have hurt it. I've had a bad back for years and it's not like I don't know what's going to hurt it and what's not. So it was really annoying to find out that I can get all stove up by doing NOTHING. But that's what happened.
So I called my trusty chiropractor, Dr. Joe. Dr Joe is a swell little guy. He kinda reminds me of a real life Hobbit or gnome. Okay maybe not a gnome 'cause gnomes are kinda creepy and he's not the least bit creepy. It's really a good thing that he's not creepy because he's married to one of the Old Chix. Dr. Joe is probably one of the most interesting people I know. He knows a lot about a lot of stuff and pretty much always has useful tidbits of information to impart...and he has a great sense of humor.
It was a little disappointing when Dr. Joe answered the phone because I was expecting his receptionist, Melissa, to answer. She and I have a little deal going...whoever wins the lottery first is going to buy the other a face lift. I was hoping to hear she'd won because I know I haven't and I could use some nips & tucks. Instead, Dr. Joe answered, and being the peach that he is, said he could see me after lunch...right before the "all important hair appointment" the location of which is conveniently located directly across from his office.
I hobbled around work all morning in a semi-"L" shape until lunch and after a scrumptious buffet of Szechuan Chicken and Fried Rice, I headed out for my date with Dr. Joe. The office was empty and he was standing at the counter when I hobbled in.
Dr. Joe: "Oh, My."
Dr. Joe says "oh, my" a lot...every time I come in walking weird he says it. I wonder if he says it to everyone or if it's just me. Probably everyone.
Me: "I didn't do anything. I just woke up like this."
I'm really crabby that I can't stand up straight and walk like a normal person. I wonder if it's detectable in my voice. Do I automatically sound like a crabby old woman when something hurts? Does my voice change with the pain level? Maybe next time I should ask him...but do I really want to know? If I know it changes will I automatically try to talk like I usually do and end up sounding even weirder...all in a pathetic attempt to seem normal?
Dr. Joe ushers me back to his table. It's one of those hydraulic lift things that you step on face first and it lays down with you on top. After pushing up and down all over my back...a little press here, a little pop there, I have to turn over onto my back. This is where the trouble began.
One of the back adjustments involves me crossing my arms over my bosom while Dr. Joe grabs me in a bear hug while rolling me into a semi sitting position...then after he gets his hands on either side of my spine, he rolls me back down and voila...snap, crackle, pop. After each little, snap, crackle, pop, I get rolled back up, he re-positions his hands and rolls me back down.
It was during the last snap, crackle, pop, that the unthinkable occurred. I can't remember if it was on the roll up or roll down, it's all a horrible blur, but during either the up or down portion of the maneuver, I farted. Not loudly, but not completely silent either. A million things run through my mind. I wanted to die...I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole...I wanted to wake up in my bed and find out it was all a terrible dream...
Me: "OMG, I just farted" I yelled.
At least it seemed like I yelled. It was probably more of a quiet shout...that slightly horrified raising of the voice that comes out when you can't believe what just happened and can't stop the words from pourin' out of the ol' pie hole like a stream of projectile vomiting. Why can't I just shut the fuck up for once??? He might not have even heard it. He's kinda old, like The Husband, who can't hear much...maybe Dr. Joe has Old Man Ears too.
Dr. Joe, who can't help chuckling, says "Well, yes, you did." He also can't help going to great lengths to try to make me feel better by explaining that you just can't imagine how much pressure builds up in the abdomen and intestines...and despite his valiant attempt to spare my feelings, I'm still totally mortified.
Am I now going to start farting in grocery stores when I bend over to get something off the bottom shelf? ( 'Cause you know that's where the cheap stuff is. They put the expensive stuff...name brands right in the middle, at eye level.) Is this how things are going to go for me now? I'll be standing in a line and fart when I turn around suddenly. Oh, I know, people will try to hide their giggles with a hand over the mouth and pretend like they didn't hear. They'll avoid eye contact so they don't have to acknowledge the gas that just passed between us.
What if it happens, and I shout "OMG I farted!"...like I did in Dr. Joe's office? Will I be able to stop the stream of shit from escaping out of my mouth when I can't stop the flow of flatulence from my ass? Maybe if it's a silent but deadly one I can look around and pretend it's the person standing in front of me...and act appropriately offended.
Hopefully when it happens, if it's an audible play, I won't have just feasted on a giant bowl of kidney beans or chowed down on a bunch of hard boiled eggs...it's the Stoopidist Thing...