It was one of those mornings I didn’t want to get out of bed. Looking back, I wished I had pulled the covers over my head and stayed there. But no, I had to be a responsible adult and I crawled out of bed and when about my duties. Today I can barely crawl out of bed.
The morning (visiting the dominatix--is this the correct spelling?)
I had an arranged meeting with a lovely yet sadistic dominatix this morning. Looks can be deceiving. Dressed very professionally, she greeting me warmly with a wonderful yet sardonic smile and invited me to sit down. "How are you this morning?" she asked.
"Does she really care?" I wondered. I knew that once she was through with me, my condition would be less than that it was.
She quickly got to work. "Open up," she said, and as a perfect submissive, I obeyed my mouth and closed my eyes. Soon there was a shooting pain in the roof of my mouth, then another, then another. When I opened by eyes, she was gone.
That wasn’t too bad, her blonde assistant suggested (I don’t think it was a question.)
Soon she was back. She pulled over a tray of torture implements for me to see. She put a brick on one side of my mouth so that I couldn’t bite her fingers and went to work. "You’re doing great," she encouraged.
"It’s no worst than the last time I had two sets of hands, a water hose, a vacuum line and a jack hammer in my mouth," I thought. An hour and a half later, she removed all her instruments and her assistant helped clean me off. I could hardly talk. Ms. Dominatix invited me back in two weeks, promising me I’d earn my crowns. (Just in case you haven’t figured this out—I’m writing about my dentist.)
The afternoon: A Pain in the Rear
Since I was in the city, I had made a couple of appointments. I fulfilled these, explaining to each that I had not suddenly developed a bad lisp nor had I been drinking heavily so early in the day (although the thought crossed my mind). By 1:30 I was heading south, going home. I had called my secretary and told her I was going to take a nap before coming into the office. However, my plans changed in a heartbeat at the intersection of 36th Street. I was minding my own business at a red light (the last thing I remembered was looking over at the car next to me which had stopped well passed the white strip), when all a sudden I felt a pain in the back as the truck bucked forward. I was stunned. It took me a minute to figure out what happened, but I was now even with the car to my side. When I looked back, I saw a school bus mounted on my rear. I was sore and rolled out of the truck and greeted by a hysterical driver. She was already on the phone with the bus garage, so I got my phone (which had been laying on the seat beside me and propelled into the windshield with enough force to crack the case--but it still worked). I called the police and in a minute, upon hearing that a bus was in an accident, there were four officers running around. I took forever for them to do all their work. One of them suggested I get myself checked out, which I later did. He helped me tape up my rear lights, which surprisingly still worked.
The rest of the afternoon and evening: "Hurry up and wait"
I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the early evening in the hospital. I didn’t feel like I needed to go, but everyone including my doctor, felt I should be there. So there I am in a gown, with my socks on, and I look down and see that my socks don’t match—one is navy and the other blue. I couldn’t even match socks that morning, I should have stayed in bed. But instead, I was now being x-rayed. Nothing seems to be too of shape, with the exception of my arm, which was already forming a bad bruise. It took me a while to get to bed last night, but once I took one of those muscle pills, I fell asleep and slept soundly, dreaming all kinds of stuff, until morning. This morning, I literally crawled out of bed and instead of being a pain in someone else’s rear today, I'll be carrying around one in my back.