|Dangerspouse Rides Again|
Garage - Track
Aug. 03, 2014 - 10:15 a.m.
Goddamit. I am seriously over this stupid elbow thing already.
Yeah, so, I went back to the doc a couple of weeks ago (right after my last pathetic entry) and he said, "It's coming along great! Next month if it still looks good you can start working with weights again. And typing."
That meant three more weeks of stretching, range of motion, and massage. But no lifting, other than beer - 8 oz. glass, no tankards. And no typing, other than at work.
Godammit. I am seriously over this stupid elbow thing already.
I'm jumping the gun a bit by typing here today, since I don't go back to the surgeon for his ok until Thursday. But what the hell. I've always been a loose cannon blogger who plays by his own rules. Chicks dig that.
In the meantime, as I say, I've been getting stretched and massaged and flexed and iced. Mostly at home, but also three times a week at the physical therapy emporium in Warwick. My therapist is a girl named Kirsten.
Kirsten has 56-JJ breasts.
Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against breasts. I even sported a rather impressive set of my own when I put on all that weight a few years back.
But when they get so large that they can be measured by a seismometer, I draw the line. Especially when the girl they're attached to is of equally Brobdingnagian stature. And Kirsten definitely is.
Still, I'm there to get my elbow back in working order, not to fat shame. And when it comes to getting elbows back in working order, Kirsten is an absolute goddess. Under her tender and careful ministration, I've been spared a lot of the post-operative pain that patients who go to more svelte and human shaped therapists have to contend with. She really is a miracle worker.
Unfortunately, in order for her to work her miracles a certain concession must be made to her anatomy. To wit: when I'm lying on my back and she extends my arm across her lap so she can massage my tricep, she drapes one of those 50 gallon milk pails over my forearm.
The first time she did this it caught me so much by surprise that I actually didn't reflexively try to unhook her bra. (In retrospect: thank god.) I just lay there with my face getting paler and paler from the combination of embarrassment, boob sweat horror, and vascular compression syndrome. What amazed me then and every time afterwards, also, was the casual ease with which she enveloped a relative stranger. She just lifted one of those landlocked Minkes up a foot or so, laid my arm across her lap, then lowered the boom. Not even so much as a "by your leave, gov'nor".
Now if you had asked me, say, just 3 months ago if I would like to be rendered nearly immobile by a freakishly large set of women's breasts I would have looked at you in amazement. Asking a guy that is like asking him if he thinks breathing is a beneficial activity. Is there even a question in there anywhere?
Later that night, sitting in the recliner watching "Botched: Butt Implants Gone Completely Wrong", NewWifey(tm) looked over at me and said, "What's the matter?"
"What's the matter?" I said. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"
"Well, your hand isn't up my shirt. Usually when we watch TV in the recliner you're playing with the girls. Are you sick?"
"No. I'm just...scared."
"You're scared? Of what?"
Silence. She looked at me with her mouth open.
"I knew it!" she finally said. "You ARE gay! My mom was right!"
"No, no! Honey, no! I still wanna nail you, and your hot sister. Believe me. It's not that. It's just that...well..." I took a deep breath. "I had a traumatic breast encounter at physical therapy today, and I need some time to sort things out in my mind."
NewWifey(tm) stared at me some more, but after a minute her stern expression gave way to one of dawning realization. She started to laugh.
"You had Kristen work on your arm!!" she exclaimed. "She worked on my elbow 2 years ago when I strained it doing yard work, remember? Oh my god, the first time she parked one of those Volkswagen Beetles on me I thought I'd never get feeling back in those fingers again! Killed any curiosity I may have had about lesbianism, too. You poor thing."
She leaned over tenderly stroked my hair while I closed my eyes and tried to block out the memory of mammoth mammaries. Soon I was breathing easier.
A few minutes later I was startled to realize that my right hand, without volition, had undone two buttons and a front-clasp and was now performing a gentle palpation on a bare C-cup.
"That's my boy" NewWifey(tm) said proudly. "Now isn't this better than being gay?"
"I DIDN'T GO GAY! I'm just scared of crush injuries."
"Of course you are. Of course you are."
"I SAID, I DIDN'T GO GAY!"
"Then prove it. Round 2nd base and go to 3rd. Now."
"'NO'? Did you just say 'No' to grabbing 3rd? Why not??"
I looked down at the ground. "I didn't tell you where Kirsten had to stuff my head while my arm was pinned under her boob...."
Ciao, kids. Don't be a boob.