I had a follow-up with Dr. Wonderful this week. He looked handsome as usual. He asked how I was doing and I was thrilled to be able to enthusiastically say “I feel better!” And he said “Great. You look good.”
Now I have to tell you, this is not a statement that a fat, middle-aged, one-eyed woman hears too often.
So I replied with surprised and flattered glee, “Really!?!”. And subsequently observed his face recoil in unmitigated horror as he vigorously back pedaled. “I mean” he stammered, “It looks like you’re moving a lot better.”
Gee whiz, it wasn’t like I was going to jump his bones or anything. No orthopedic pun intended.
Oh well. It did feel good for a millisecond.
I met this lovely older lady at physical therapy. She is doing exercises similar to mine, but she's doing them better than me.
Naturally, I'm dead jealous and competitive and want to knock this little old lady over so she breaks her other arm and I will outdo her in PT.
Part of my gambit is to gain her trust and give her a false sense of security by letting her think I am a nice person and actually interested in her. So I asked her how long it had been since she had her surgery, because she was doing so well. Her answer: 3 weeks. THREE FREAKING WEEKS. You know how long it's been since mine? Eleven weeks! She's flinging her arm all over creation and I can't even…well, it’s personal, but you get the picture.
So then I ask her, what happened? Oh, she fell too. Only she fell in GREECE. At the PARTHENON!!!!
Not only is this lady running physical therapy circles around me, she has a WAY better fall story.
My friends had encouraged me to make up good stories to explain my massive scar: shark attack; stuntwoman accident; the Jersey Devil; freak onion chopping accident; knitting accident; tattoo cover attempt gone horribly wrong; squirrel attack while drinking martinis (don’t ask). So, they say to me, maybe she is making the whole Greece thing up.
Hmmmm. I never thought of that. Now that you mention it, she did look like a big fat liar even though she was only about 5 feet tall and 85 lbs.
Parthenon my ass.
So then my friend Graea in England says, “Sweet looking little old ladies get away with murder. She probably isn't even very old--just cunning makeup. I bet she's exaggerating her injury, too.” Hmmmm. I never thought of that either.
And best of all Graea says, “And no way can she have a better scar than you. You would make Genghis Khan feel like a big girl's blouse.”
No wonder I love Graea.
I have to go lie down for a little while now and not think about little old ladies with great stories who do better than me in physical therapy. And doctors who look terrified when they inadvertently hand me a compliment.