Wow, yesterday's post makes me look like a grubby snob. I did not mean to appear that way, it is just that I don't often get to wear nice shoes(like Stuart Weitzman's) out here in the barren, manure ridden tundra we call home. We don't often get to social events that require a more formal dress code beyond an evening at Carino's. Oh, wait. I take that back. I did get to wear my nice shoes a few months ago right here at home.
I was pulling laundry out of the dryer and did something wrong, when WHAM, I completely threw my back out. Yeah I know that makes me sound like and old lady, but that is exactly how Ifelt and looked. My dear friend, Jan, loaned me a muscle massager to help work the kinks out and it worked super well. I just couldn't bring myself to tell people that the miracle cure was a product called "Dr. Ho's muscle stimulator." Sounds dirty, but was really and truly just this little battery pack with electrodes that you placed on the sore muscle and it gave 'em a little jolt. AAAHH what relief. But back to the shoes. So as I am hunched over, shuffling around in my fleece, polka-dot pajama bottoms, I read that wearing high-heeled shoes can change the angle of your back and alleviate pain. BINGO. Not a pretty look, but sure did feel good when I slipped on my favorite black heels and hobbled around in those pajama pants.
This was a look I only shared with Jan and of course the few people who were forced to live with me that week. Marc earned a crown in heaven that week for putting up with me. I don't believe I was a very sweet person being as angry at myself for the self-inflicted pain.
Maybe tomorrow I can think of something to post that doesn't involve shopping or me, me, me. I told you in the first post that I was a very shy, withdrawn, reticent person and here is the proof in the pudding. HA
There are scars, still. Even within the miracles.
2 months ago