Thursday, as I Evolved

Last week, I had a little run-in with some pain. Which is kind of like saying that, in the 1940s, Europe had a little run-in with Hitler.

One thing you young guys out there should know. As you grow older, there are going to be some great events coming your way. People to hold and to hold on to. Memories to cherish, mental photographs to capture, treasure and recall.

None of those wonderful, cherished moments will ever, ever have anything to do with your butt.

Monday, I seemed to be fine. Tuesday, I began to notice some political correctness. True, Wednesday morning's book study at a local coffee shop did leave me feeling a bit insulted by the shop's rather Spartan decisions regarding chair selection, but I soldiered on and got back home.

And then, by Wednesday evening, the discussion was over. BP had attacked my Gulf.

By Thursday morning, I had morphed into a hideous thing, with virtually no shot at becoming the next poster boy for Posture Pals. When I walked or otherwise moved, it hurt my HAIR. The slightest of activities was unwelcome, including cell mitosis. I was galumphing around my house like a "Shrek" computer animation glitch.

Neville Chamberlain rang up and suggested I wait a while, and maybe Hitler would calm down and BP would just go away. I made an admittedly unfair comparison between Neville's face and a ferret's gulf, and Neville rang off. Then I headed out for the doctor's.

I'd never really thought about it before, but as it turns out, you can actually drive a car without ever once touching the car seat. (Traffic ticket management tip: opt for less-travelled roads)

At the doctor's, it was all professionalism.

"Sweetie, we're swamped - can you come back in an hour?"

"Have you ever met Neville Chamberlain?"

"Pardon?"

An hour later, I drove back in.

"Ah, Mr. Shrek. The doctor will see you now, honey."

"Ahl em blesh. Fnee tlum."

"Pardon?"

I proceeded to the "the doctor will have his way with you now" room and was told to "prep," which is doctor-office-speak for "Remove all the clothes your parents told you never to remove in public, put on this cheesy Toga outfit, and lie down on top of that roll of butcher paper, on that table we just pulled out of the upright freezer in the garage." So I prepped, fell in the general direction of the examining table, and faced the wall. And a few minutes later, I heard the doctor utter one of those highly technical medical diagnoses you just never want to hear when you're "prepped" and facing a wall.

"Wow."

I was immediately referred to a surgeon some 10 miles away, which meant I had to cope with, and survive, another drive. So I strapped into my impromptu zero-Gee modified seatbelt harness, bit down on a large stick, and triple-clutched my way across town.

Ultimately, everything worked out. I think. Maybe it didn't, and I'm dead. It's late June in South Carolina, so it's hard to tell. So before I proceed, let me go ahead and share some handy advice with you. Someday, somewhere, you're bound to find yourself in an unexpected conversational situation. A comment will catch you by surprise. I mean, some things, you just never really expected (or wanted) to hear. So here are some possible replies to awkward chat.

(Paid Professional)

"Please undress, lie down, and face the wall."

(Your Options)

* Aw, honey. I didn't get you anything.

* Don't I get a phone call?

* Hey! Are you sure this is the Real Estate seminar?

(Paid Professional)

"Wow."

(Your Options)

* That's what they all say.

* Now don't go getting technical on me.

* That's kind of you, but I still think we should see other people.

(Paid Professional)

"Does this hurt?"

(Your Options)

* I've had worse.

* Aw, you palpate like my sister.

* Please speak up. I'm screaming.

(Paid Professional)

"Okay, now we're going to tape together your buttocks."

(Your Options)

* No, you are NOT.

* Well now, there's something you don't hear every day.

* Ever done time, Doc?

* Really? You mean I'm finally going on "Dancing With The Stars?"

But my story ends well. The kind surgeon performed a few "Full Monty" outtakes, and ... boom ... the pain went away. Just ... went away. I could even drive home without duct-taping myself to the sun visor.

The human body. What a wonderful, complex, largely self-regulating machine we have; this human body; this gift; this miraculous mechanism that some interesting people still think was created entirely at random, one mutation at a time, eh?

But I had the rest of Thursday afternoon to kill anyway, so I went ahead and evolved. That car-seat levitation thing could come in handy, especially at concerts, so I willed that into permanency. Added a short third arm, too, at the base of my back, just as a backup prop-up. I evolved myself free of ear-lobe hair (never did understand where evolution was headed with that one). And because I've had surgery, I made another minor comfort adjustment. I still take in food through my mouth, but now I discharge it from my armpit.

Hah. Wait till the "fossil record" gets a load of me.

But it's all good. Between me and my third arm, we're a shoe-in for the next Posture Pals.