I’m officially old. My mom has always told me that old is a state of mind. Well, my mind focuses on the pain in my lower back most of the time, and I’m pretty sure youngins don’t think about their lower back hurting constantly. In fact, this has consumed my mind for about 3 weeks now. I literally slide out of the bed every morning because I can’t make my body bend into a 90 degree angle. When I get dressed, I have to use my abnormally dexterous toes to pick up the clothes I need from the ground (because, yeah, my clothes are on the ground). Luckily, I possess an extra long second toe, which makes for superior grabbing and pinching; I’m like an armed, armless wonder.
I’ve often wondered if I should just wear a weight belt at all times. It seems like it would do the trick: back support with a bad ass look. Just think about it, I could be anywhere and look like I just left the gym. Wendy’s: just left the gym. Work: just left the gym. Court: just left the gym. Gym: just left the gym. If that’s too overtly awesome, I could wear it under my clothes and leave people guessing what I have under my shirt/pants. I’d be the mysterious guy with the lumpy, bumpy midsection.
All joking aside, my wife set up a chiropractor appointment for me for tomorrow. I’m actually kind of nervous about it because if cartoons have taught me anything, it’s that chiropractor’s want to inflict pain and… are cartoon wolves. They want to drop some ‘bows on my back and crack my neck like they’re Steven Segal. Furthermore, I’m pretty big so what if he can’t pop my back with his body weight? Will he use a machine? Are there chiropractor machines? Is it a giant robot with boxing gloves for hands that will pound my back? These are all questions I would have asked if I knew how to set up the appointment myself. Instead, I have to resort to looking it up on the internet, and somehow I typed in “horror stories” after “chiropractor.”Needless to say, I’m a tad concerned with being paralyzed or having a stroke. In my mind, this is what is going to happen: I’m too big for him to pop my neck; he’s going to put all of his weight into it; my head is going to twist around like a Coca-Cola bottle top.
Everyone will call me “Coca-Cola Bottle Top” Johnny.
“Oh, there’s ‘Coca-Cola Bottle Top’ Johnny, it’s okay to look at him now but don’t look when he passes by you; his head’s on backwards.”