Release

This morning I had my back cracked by the most handsome man ever to lay hands upon me.

No kidding. I tend to get involved with good looking boys, people, and this fellow has blown me out of the water. I have no standards by which to judge him. He is the hottest man on the planet until I see otherwise.

Our story begins when I had a consult from a friend's chiropractor, and he was so horrified by the state of my back that I agreed to start sessions with him. (Actual exchange: "How are you not in incredible pain all the time?" "Mmmm, I have a high pain threshold?") I decided to start with him for a number of reasons. First, he's changed my friend's life as far as back problems go. Second, he scared the living hell out of me when he showed me how crooked I was. Third, I was actually agog at how beautiful he was.

Imagine this:
Now give him a shaved head and a terrific French accent. And better eyes, actually.

(Meg takes a minute to live the memory)

Now have him work you over, cracking all kinds of parts of your back and neck and *ahem* lower spine for 20 to 30 minutes. Moan-y and gasp-y sorts of noises are made that I'm not proud of, but could not be helped. Zee back cracking, it feels good and bad all at once.

(Once again living the memory)

My session this morning felt like a combo of several things I love: a fierce workout, a date with a hot guy, and a trip to the museum to gaze upon lovely things. He asked me as I was leaving whether he needed to call to remind me to come back on Wednesday morning. Ha! Silly beautiful Frenchman! No need to remind me to come back and have you fix my rear end (and I mean that literally)! I will be back. Again and again and again.