Healing Hands Hurt
My mother firmly believed her mother possessed what she called “healing hands” and that was why my Nana was a nurse popular enough to have an infirmary named for her at a Pennsylvania university. Nana had nothing on Carmen, a local gal that uses her hands to ease muscle and nerve pain.
Having returned from traveling involving a lot of time in airplanes and cars my one leg was really bothering me making walking both painful and difficult. Not good for a walking tour guide and a lad without a car. Upon hearing of my discomfort a Mexican pal took me to Carmen’s near the bus station where I hiked the week before with my own Toto discovering a great rainbow. Here Carmen does a hopping business for those, after her help, that can actually hop.
Knowing I’d likely have to remove my jeans for her treatment I had the forethought to don new skivvies as a lad likes to both look and smell good when viewed in his underoos. Little did I know just how many gals would enjoy the view!
Carmen has the sheer muscularity of a lumberjack making not crying during her rubdown my full time focus. Meanwhile I was the full time focus of her three daughters age 3, 6 and 7. I haven’t been this interesting to women since, well, ever.
One by one they crept into room and littered me with questions.
- What’s my name?
- Where am I from?
- Where are my children?
- What are their favorite colors?
The color question opened up a Pandora’s box I had not expected. They were adept at identifying my sneakers were white, shirt gray, and much to my chagrin, they knew my boxer briefs were blue. Immediately, like some third rate hypnotist I removed my watch and began rotating it to draw their attention to points farther north. “What colors are my watch?” I pleaded between stifling tears and the ever reddening of my face.
One gal, Maria, noted since she was Maria and I was Joseph, I must be her husband. Since she was holding a baby doll I said “Yes, and that is our baby Jesus. But why does Jesus have blue eyes while you and I have both have brown eyes?” She thought that observation was simply too funny for words.
Playing to my audience, I asked if they knew Hello Kitty. They not only knew the infamous cat but I learned she was their very favorite. I blew their little minds saying Kitty was my sister’s name. They simply could not believe that insisting Kitty was only applicable to a white Japanese cat until Carmen gave my throbbing leg a rest to insist to them “His sister’s name is Kitty. Believe him.”
Then I went for big climax and told them every morning I call my sister Kitty so when she answers the phone I can state “Hello, Kitty!” That blew their little minds!
Luckily their mother, Carmen, was right. I felt like hell the rest of that day but by morning I was feeling so much better. No more MRIs, muscle relaxants and such for me. From now on for 200 pesos and 20 minutes I’ll head over to Carmen’s. I just need to brush up on my under a meter height stand up (well, laying down) routine.