twenty minute ass massage
this doesn’t seem right
I’ve started physical therapy for my asshole pelvis. Not to say that I have a pelvis in my asshole, but that my pelvis itself is sullen and peevish and mean to me. Peevish Pelvis. I think that was a voice exercise we used to do in theatre class.
Anyway, I started PT, and so far it’s pretty exciting. I get to spend 15 minutes in a quiet room laying on a giant heating pad while my lower back warms up. Then my therapist comes in, gives my legs a yank, comments on how crooked my pelvis bones are, and then kneads my upper ass area like it’s an especially stretchy pizza dough.
Boy does it hurt.
Then she makes me do all kinds of crazy leg lift things and a squeezing-a-Mickey-Mouse-ball-with-my-knees thing, and then I pay a million dollars because my insurance won’t pay until my insane deductible is met, and then I go home. It’s all pretty thrilling.
I wish I could say the ass massage was my favorite part, but really, laying in a quiet room, resting on a heating pad and gazing at paintings of old ocean liners is my favorite part. It doesn’t feel like someone is drilling through me with a stabby blunt object, and that’s always a nice thing.
My pelvis turned into an asshole sometime around April last year. Maybe by April this year it will be contrite and friendly again. If it’s not, though, I’ll have ocean liners to look at and excruciating ass massages to look forward to. Hell, as long as the room is quiet and no one needs a juicebox, I’ll be happy to go to PT forever. Or until I run out of money.