Anyone who's read this blog for more than a few minutes is probably familiar with the state of my anti-ass. (Reason #154 why I'm single, but who's counting?) For those of you who've had intensive psychotherapy to block out the mental image, let me jog your memory. The loss of my gluteus medius has cost me my ass, which has become an anti-ass which, whenever I sit on a hard surface, becomes a bruised anti-ass, which is red hot sexy and probably Reason #155 why I'm single. (And, yes, I have written more about my anti-ass than I have about the hip-replacement surgery itself. Priorities! The public needs to know!).
Well, feel sorry for my anti-ass no longer. Even though I still may be walking like the monsters in the Monster Mash music video (thanks, Cheryl), I have found a way to balance myself out. Actually, wheelchair basketball has found a way to balance me out. (See, wheelchair basketball. How could I ever break up with you?)
Today, I tried out a new strapping system. I upgraded from the "stretchy luggage strap" to the "weight-lifting belt around my midsection." Pro: I don't stand up every 3.5 seconds and am more stable. Con: my two hip bones have become massively bruised. These bruises, however, give me symmetry since they line up with the bruises on the back. It's like yin and yang. This is good news because my anti-ass now has an office mate in the Department of Complaints, Minor Inconveniences and Old-Lady-ry: the anti-hip. (I'm not sure if the muscles around my hip have actually worn away or if weight-lifting belt + midsection is just a natural recipe for some chafing).
Ok. Yes. I have actually just written a blog post about hip chafing, (which is still not as bad as my post about my monkey slippers). This, however, is serious business. I mean, what am I going to say to the old ladies at deep-water aerobics tomorrow? You just know that the minute I step out in my sexy one-piece bathing suit that's literally disintegrating from the chlorine rocking two huge bruises on my hips, Myrtle is going to be looking at Gladys and being like, "Check out that tall gimpy one. Homegirl obviously had a good night." And Gladys will be like, "Oh. Yeah." And Myrtle will be like, "Lord, I've been there. When I used to give it up against that bathroom stall back when in the '60s when I was strapped for cash, my hips were raw for weeks" and Gladys will be like...ok, too far? Too far.
Anyhow, the point is that deep water aerobics is bad enough without having old ladies speculating about how you wound up with bruises and chafing on your hips. Why do I get the sense that I'm the only one who ever has these problems?
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