Doctor Crack 0
Not Marna's Back
I was excited when two people referred me to the same chiropractor. He must be good. Or is Santa Barbara just that small?
After an x-ray, my tall, age-appropriate, good-natured chiro told me my L4 ain’t what it used to be. Long hours sitting at a desk, age, and who knows what else have pulled it about 40 percent out of alignment. He could “fix” it.
During my second visit, he began to open up. “You know I see a lot of people every day. I’ve seen a lot of tattoos and your’s is the best ever. It’s not tribal, it’s not cliche. It’s hilarious and original,” he commented. With my head down in the doughnut, I replied, “Now that we’ve passed first base, can you crack my bra strap?”
Three times a week and this was our ritual. He’d tell me where he’d hiked. He’d ask me if I had any dates. He’d crack my back and then my rack. My fakelationship was going great until he showed me pictures on his phone from his ski trip to Mammoth. In the batch, I recognized his online dating profile picture and remembered we had chatted and rejected each other ages ago.
So, when I realized my back pain relief was only temporary and when the bill came, I decided to quit Doctor Crack. The money saved could buy me many yoga classes or a renewed subscription on match.com. Since Santa Barbara really is that small, I know we’ll meet again.