My mother’s answer to every physical ailment is the chiropractor. Since I was 7 years old, I visited the chiropractor to “fix” my asthma attacks. My creepiest memories of childhood are of me on a table being smothered by a 200lb. man trying to twist my head off my neck.
I spent several years going to the chiropractor but never got better lungs; my chiropractor got a condo on Grand Cayman. To this day my mother believes that chiropractors are the true miracle workers of the world. Gall bladder problems? Chiropractor. Planter’s warts? Chiropractor. This, in combinations with her holistic, herbal mindset made for one weird childhood. I distinctly remember my mother being called to school to pick me up because I was sick. I was SICK! She brought in her liquid aloe vera extract, made me drink it and told me to stick out the day because I was going to be fine. The school never called her in again.
So when my husband starting having back issues, my mother’s response was, “get him to the chiropractor.” Twelve appointments, heat massage, and an expensive, custom made back pillow later, I fixed him. That’s right. I fixed him. Me and Jerry Seinfeld.
You know that episode where George’s wallet is stuffed so full of crap that his wallet barely even closes? I married George Costanza. I took one look at his wallet and found receipts from 1982, expired credit cards, frequent lunch punch cards with exactly one lunch punched out of all 122 cards; old movie stubs and "How to care for fish" instructions (don’t have fish); you name it, it was in there.
Anyway, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist caught in a love triangle to figure out that if you sit lopsided on your butt all day, you’re going to have back problems. Thanks to George Costanza, my husband’s wallet is no longer a pain in the butt.
That my friends, is educational TV.
** Not all chiropractors are quacks. I know some very fine people who happen to be chiropractors. Use with caution.