The Breakup

I hate breakups.  

I’ve never been good at them.  On the giving or receiving side.

But it’s time.

I need to break up with Igor.  My Physical Therapist.

Why, you ask?

Well, besides the fact that my shoulder has recovered (thanks to Igor), it’s because he and I have gotten too close and it’s interfering with my marriage.

He knows way more about me than my husband does.  And he’s a much better listener.  

Except when he’s not listening.  

But he’s much better than Dave is at pretending he’s listening.

With that said, Dave has improved his listening skills in the past few hours since I caught him redhanded.

“Hey, Dave. I’m going to take Kevin with me to Food Lion.  I’m getting a Rotisserie Chicken for dinner."

“Okay.  What do you want to do for dinner?”

Igor would never be that bad of a listener.  Or a pretend listener.  Maybe I should break up with Dave.

Of course I’m 30 years older than Igor.  There’s that.  

Plus he’s married.

OMG!  I hope he wouldn’t expect me to have his baby.  I’m too old for that.

Although, there was that 60 year old invitro mother I saw in the news a few years ago.  So a pregnancy is not out of the question.

On second thought, I think I’m going to go ahead and break up with Igor.  I'd never have enough energy to raise a teenager in my '70s.  

Sorry, Igor.  I guess I’m staying with Dave.

Verbal Diarrhea

Ever since my Rotator Cuff surgery I've had the pleasure pain of participating in Physical Therapy.  My PT Therapist, let's call him "Igor", is a great guy who genuinely wants me to get back to 100%.

However, his empathy for my low pain threshold, that is scientifically linked to my red hair and left-handedness, seems a bit insincere.  I get the sense that he thinks I'm a bit on the whiny side.

Which I just don't get.  I don't whine that much.  (For a debilitated left-handed redhead.)

We start each treatment with arm swings.  I bend over at the waist and place my right arm on the bed and let the injred arm hang limply.  Then I sway my hips back and forth, which kick-starts my left arm moving in a circle.  20 times clockwise.  20 times counterclockwise.

As a side note, Dave walked into the bathroom yesterday while I was doing my arm swings.  He stopped in his tracks, turned around and exited.  I heard him tell the dog, "Kevin. Don't go in there.  Your mother's doing something deviant."

The worst part of PT is when Igor moves my arm FOR me.  I lie on the bed as he slowly moves my arm up and down. 

Like a damn railroad crossing arm.

And he forces it to go a bit higher each time.  It's called "Passive Range of Motion."

I noted a positive correlation between the intensity of my pain and my level of concentration on what Igor is doing to my poor arm.  The more I focus, the more it hurts.

Thus, Verbal Diarrhea rears its ugly head.

Each time Igor begins the Passive Range of Motion I begin my monologue.  Which has evolved into the random history of my life.

And it works!  The more I babble the less pain I feel.

"Igor, did I ever tell you about the time I suggested Linda dry her hair using the Gold's Gym hand dryer?  OMG it gave her the biggest dread lock I have ever seen.  It was  hysteric YOWZA, IGOR YOU'RE KILLING ME So once when I was going to a Bill's game I made a sign out of a sheet that said, 'Conrad you can hold me if you want.  I'll even let you score'. I hung it right in the end zone.  My Mom was so mad at me JUDAS CHRISTMAS IN JULY WHAT ARE YOU DOING IGOR? Did you like macaroni and cheese when you were a kid?  I used to put hot dogs in my kids Mac 'N Cheese to make it even less healthy FOR CRYING IN THE BEER IGOR I AM NOT GUMBY!  STOP! You know one time I did an experiment when I tried to start a pair of Dave's underwear on fire on the driveway using a Barbie roller blade.  It didn't work.  Turns out that what I thought was hairspray was dry shampoo.  Imagine that! HOLY STINKIN' COW, IGOR!  HOW MUCH LONGER?  Did you ever cook a turkey, Igor?  There's a scene in Heck the Dolls with Chardonnay where Becky's cooking her first turkey and she thought the turkey neck was a penis.  And then her husband wants a sandwich so she sticks the neck between 2 pieces of bread and gives it to him.  And hs says it's great and that he loves the texture of the meat.  Igor?  Where'd you go?"

I hadn't even noticed that Igor had walked away and was writing something in his notebook.

"There you are, Igor!  We're done already?  Wow.  That wasn't so bad."

I'm not sure what he was writing in his notebook.  I would hope he'd be entering notes about the amazing progress I've made.

And not a referral for a mental health professional.

Because I don't need one.

I have Igor.