This is a love letter, of sorts. Before I lose all of the men who’re reading this, not to mention Dr Chiro himself, calm down. The only man getting any romanticizing from me is Mr ReloVertigo. Have no fear. I’ve not become a chiropractor stalker.

Today I realized how greatly I’ve already come to appreciate my visits to the good Dr, and miss the positive effects each appointment brings both body and mind. I had to miss today’s appointment, in order to travel out of state. We’d planned on leaving after my scheduled appointment, but in my unmatched brilliance, I chose to forgo the miracle manipulations of Dr Chiro, and allow The Husband and I an earlier departure time. What I realized far too late was that, had I not abandoned the good Dr, I could potentially have been more relaxed for the 5 hour Road Trip Of Death that replaced Neck and Back Nirvana. Mr ReloVertigo drives like he’s beta testing the newest version of NASCAR The Game. Sleeping is not on the menu for me. Seat belts and tightly gripping the safety bars are mandatory minimums. Keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, ladies and gentlemen.

Migraine pain at an 8, what a joy! About halfway to our destination, we made a pit stop. No tires, we didn’t bring the jack man (NASCAR humor). We were somewhere in Iowa. Upon stiffly exiting the vehicle, I slowly began to stretch my arms, reaching for the sky, when out of nowhere – “Ho!” Like a punch to the gut, it bent me in half. I had no control over what my body was doing. My hands flew to my nose and mouth. All I could think was, “Shelter in Place!” If you have never lived in an agricultural area, or at least frequently visited one, I cannot adequately convey to you the swiftness with which your brain recalls the precise source of livestock stench when it smells that same source, even years later. We were at a rest area; all I saw was Interstate and corn fields, and I was nearly snapping my head off whipping it back and forth (ok, not like these kids), looking for HOGS. Never having located any, not having done a thorough search of the area anyway, we took care of business and got back on the road. Phew!

Arriving at our destination, we picked up The Daughter and enjoyed a meal and laughs. Afterward, we picked up some coffee at a major chain. Not until we returned to Daughter’s place did I see the coffee spill on the front of my shirt. Confession time, Friendly Reader: I am infamous within our family, for spills. Small, big, it doesn’t matter. It will always be on the front of my shirt. Occasionally, I do dumb things that cause them to behave as if they’d rather I walk ten paces to the rear. I thought I was doing the right thing to get the tiny coffee drip out of my T-shirt. The process…got away from me. Have you heard the song “I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly?”  It was like that, without insects. Or animals. Or old ladies. Daughter ReloVertigo tried to help with a towel, but I made it worse with soap. Then I made it even worse with more water, because I had to rinse the soap. By the end of this, I had gone from a tiny coffee drip to an enormous wet spot over four inches wide, from mid-chest to the hem of the shirt.
Thinking the air would dry it naturally, I took a seat in the kitchen. Looking at me like he was trying to determine whether I was seriously going to just leave it like that, his mouth turned up at one corner.

“Are you going to dry that?”

“It will dry naturally.”

“Not if you want to walk beside us.” Well! So much for love conquering all. More like love conquering all but looking like an idiot.

Wanting to be allowed to accompany the grownups, I dried my shirt with the hostess’ complimentary hair dryer.

I really should have just gone to my appointment today.

Image by PublicDomainPictures via Pixabay

Image by PublicDomainPictures via Pixabay

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