I discovered something about myself yesterday.
It was quite the revelation.
I don’t think I’ve ever made this statement before.
I need a man!
Yep! It is true.
I need a man.
If you have been a reader of my blog from the beginning,
then you know about my physical therapy experiences
with Mr. Hyde.
That personable purveyor of torture.
You also know of my experiences in the Kaiser Torture Chamber,
and my encounters with the gatekeeper therein.
You probably know that I am currently recuperating from hip replacement surgery.
You may have also noticed that I have had nothing to say about physical therapy since that second surgery.
And not because the therapy for the hip is not as intense as it is for the knee.
Nope.
I have tried to come up with something to grab your attention, but I got nothing.
No complaints, no “Seriously?” moments, no faces!
Nothing.
Yawnnnnnn
I have wondered why the muse did not show up for these sessions.
I discovered the reason why yesterday, Thursday.

I really do need a man. 👀

Before you go there, allow me to explicate this declarative!

This time around, my physical therapist was female,
which has nothing to do with her expertise.
She knew her stuff; I was very impressed with her knowledge.
It’s just that she was so nice that I did not feel compelled to prove to her that I could master those diabolical exercises. dagnabit!
Yeah, Mr. Hyde irritated me just enough to fight to get to the next level so I could prove him wrong!
Yeah.
I need a man to raise my “irked” level or a woman who does not give a fat rat’s patootie about how I feel, a female taskmaster who doesn’t trust my happy responses to her questions.
My female therapist was moving to Washington state so she could not complete the final session with me.
I had one day left of in-home care.
Her replacement showed up Thursday.
Mr. Hyde’s cousin, Mr. Moriarity!
Yep.
A man.
By the time Mr. Moriarity had smiled his way through that one session,
I felt the burn in places that really should not burn.
😳
I shall not see Mr. Moriarity again.
and as he walked out the door into the setting sun (yeah, that’s bit of hyperbole), I could swear I heard a lone wolf howling in the distance.

Kaiser Torture Chamber, I’m baa-ack!
(There’s that wolf again)