Good bras are hard to find!

This morning started with a debate on which bra I should wear. I knew I was having manipulation, and I knew the doctor would want my top off to do it, and so I went through my underwear drawer discarding the too sexy, too worn, too frumpy, wrong colour bras. There wasn’t a lot left and I now regret my choice.

I like to think I know my doctor very well, because although before this week I hadn’t seen him for three years, he’s been my doctor since I was fourteen and many years ago I was very ill for long time and we saw an awful lot of each other. We have a good relationship, if anything a little too good.

With me lying half naked on Dr B’s new all-singing-all-dancing massage table he brought out some very big needles and asked if I’d ever had acupuncture before. Not being a fan of needles (who in their right mind is?) I wouldn’t have willingly entered the room if I’d known! But hey, who wants to look a wimp in front of a dishy doctor?

And so, for the first time and hopefully the last, I experienced life as a pin cushion. And it probably wouldn’t have been painful if we hadn’t got the giggles, but after I made the comment that I didn’t think real doctors did this sort of thing, he explained how he was ‘earthing’ my muscles to release the energy (or something like that) and I started giggling. To get his own back, he told me I’d make a crap doctor and started laughing at my self diagnosis that I’d had a chest infection.

Mirth aside, he thought my back muscles responded really well and once the needles were removed, began the manipulation.

He likes my joints. Recons they’re spongy. In fact he asked if I’d consider volunteering as a guinea-pig when he shows other doctors how it’s done. ‘Oh yes,’ I said with sarcastic sincerity, ‘Lying around in my bra in front of a room full of doctors whilst you try to break my neck? That’s just what I want to do with my spare time!’ He told he hadn’t tried to break my neck. Yet.

Anyway, whilst he’s pulling my leg and popping my shoulder he chattered away constantly, asking about the kids, the better-half, the house and whether I’ll ever get a real job (yes, he is that cheeky!). So I thought it only polite to ask about his kids. The eldest is now twenty-something and I all but screamed as I realised how old we’ve become. Of course I didn’t include myself, when I pointed out he's getting on a bit!

But dishy Dr B doesn’t like to outdone, and his next comment was to ask if I was cold. I answered no before wondering why he’d asked. (Do I need to explain? I think not.) Seeing the horrified look on my face (not to mention the colour) he roared with laughter and winked at me!

He may have won this round, but I’ll have a better bra next time!