I love my chiropractors.  Yes, I have two.  They’re a husband and wife team who I adore.  I used to see the wife until I screwed up my back this winter and found I needed to actually be adjusted in a different way.  Yeah, I lay on my side on the edge of the table, and then the chiropractor tips me forward (at this point it’s like a game of trust because if they let go you’re on the floor) and then he twists and rotates that stupid spot in my spine back into place.  I say he when I mention this procedure because the wife… well I am not sure if she weighs over 100 lbs and she does NOT have the strength to do said maneuver.

For a while it was comical.  I’d make an appointment with the wife who would adjust all my other bits and then she’d run over and grab her husband.  Then there would be days when the wife would be backed up and the husband would say “you just want me to adjust you today?”

So, I switched from one to the other.  Not a big deal, really.  They’re both excellent chiropractors and I get along well with both of them.  I have never ever wished it was the wife adjusting me and not the husband until last week.

What happened last week, you ask?  Well, I had that fall while running and put my tail bone slightly out of whack.  No biggie, right?  Hmm.  Sure.  Except that my chiropractor essentially had to put his hand in the crack of my ass to adjust it. While not particularly awkward because my chiropractor is awesome and totally told me a hilarious story through the whole process… I still found it cringeworthy afterwards.

It’s like “oh, I guess we’re better acquainted now.”

My visit to the chiropractor this week went about the same way.  The tail bone needed a small adjustment (which means next week it should be fine THANK HEAVEN) and it lasted a fraction of the time last week’s did.  But still.  Imagine laying on your stomach on a table and someone having to place their hand THERE.

Very personal.

But… the tail bone… feels sooooo much better.  Totally worth the 2 seconds of mild horror.  (Ok, and I admit to wondering how my ass crack measures up.  Seriously, I’m mental.)