Is it 2:30 yet? I’ve an appointment, and I don’t want to miss it. There’s a knot in my neck, a kink in my back. My hip is sore, my shoulder aches. When I looked in the mirror the other day I found a pretzel wearing flannel sheep pajamas staring back at me. Yes, it’s that bad!
So yesterday I made a stop to see Sara Love, massage therapist. Yes, that’s right. I’m going in for a massage. I get to melt away in ecstasy. Or maybe it’s pain. Either way, I know I’ll be slobbering all over that pillow as she kneads my muscles like Grandma used to knead bread dough.
It’s not that I can really afford to go in for a massage. Sara doesn’t take insurance. It’s cash only. Or, if you’re a clever little shepherd, yarn. For Sara is a knitter and there is always a pair of needles nearby. And so today I shall bring a big box of handspun yarn, and Sara will get to choose which colors she loves the most, after which I will once more be able to walk upright. At least until I come home and do the evening chores…
Is it 2:30 yet?