I think I need a shower

I have been exploring some ways to get a better nights sleep. We replaced the girl's single bed with a queen size mattress (plenty of room for mommy's fat arse.) I have been taking my medication like a good girl. And then I decided to go to the chiropractor. I asked my doctor for a suggestion, alas that one was not in my insurance network. So left to my own devices, I consulted the all knowing phone book.

No X-rays were taken, no real cracking took place. This doctor is a fan of the pretzel adjustment that I despise. She also pulled my ears to check my sinus something or other and knucklerubbed my clavicle. A little odd. Not to mention that her lipstick was noticeably outside the lines of her lips. By a lot.

From her "adjustment room" I was moved to a "massage room". Bobby was the man of the day in his convict scrubs and black steel toed boots. The room was ice cold and Bobby had the unsteady aura in his hands of teenage virgin. I came away smelling like massage lotion and feeling a little soiled. Let's be clear, I love massage therapy. I am totally for chiropractic care, but I am certain that there must be a standard to follow.

And after Friday's surprise vaginal ultrasound I am just a little too violated for any further strangeness.

Heather