Useful Thoughts On Osteo Pants

Ok. Ok, I thought it was ok. After the first two sessions of being Very Unprepared, I was like, “yeah, YEAH I GOT THIS. I know this shit now. I am DOWN WITH THIS SHIT.”

Osteo has been brilliant. I had my third appointment, and greeted Andrew by leaping out of the car at him (he was watering the garden), and trying not to launch myself at him in an enthusiastic bear-hug. “LOOK! LOOK OMG I CAN MOVE!” (Here I did a really questionable high-kick.) “And, and, I can bend and stuff!!!” (Here I may have done something that looked like a 1950s hand jive twist, as demonstrated by a white person trying to be a black person trying to be white.)

And then I did that bouncing up and down on the spot thing, which I often do when I’m enthusiastic and overly happy about something. So, y’know, almost all the time.

After the stresses of previous sessions, I was determined to be prepared this time. Front garden trim: check. Decent bright pink Osteo Pants (I adore brightly coloured underwear. I teamed them with a green bra. It’s called fashion. I’m sure): check. Clean and fresh: check. Gas free: che- uh, yeah, good enough. And even more so, given my current (new found) agility, I was determined to get to a point where he could say “Yes! You’re doing brilliantly!” So naturally, I was a bit of a live wire.

As I followed him into the consultation room, I suddenly realised my horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE mistake. All that bouncing around had made me rather warm. Stood there, still fully clothed and discussing running around at Saturday’s wedding, I suddenly realised my  pants  were, um, damp. Horny damp? Nope. That would have probably been less embarrassing. He left for me to undress. Whipped off my trousers to see, to my HORROR, huge sweat patches all around my crotch. Omfg.

Soooooooo you know when you have sweaty ass prints on a chair?

Yeah, imagine that, but on your bum.

Your front bum, no less.

Originally I decided to pretend to ignore it, but as he once again hoiked my leg under his armpit (Why god, why? Are you laughing at me? Is this payback? Did I miss one too many Sundays as a kid, when I rebelled against Sunday school? Geeeeeeze.) I had to apologise for being a bit sweaty, and blamed it on the beautiful weather.

Yeah, that’d work, totally.

Until, I ALSO realised that sweaty pants also make for flappy pants.

FLAPPY. PANTS.

Oh. My. God.

That thing where, fabric goes all weird when it’s damp, and seems to temporarily lose it’s elasticity, and just doesn’t sit right (in the right place). Well. Oh God.

While he did his usual manipulations, there was a moment of quiet while he fixed my back. With my face in the hole in the bed thing, I chose that moment to ask the most stupid question to ever ask any kind of osteo ever in the history of ever.

“Sometimes, when a person comes along and is lying on your bed-table thing, do you ever think to yourself that you really just don’t want to have to touch them?”

In my MIND, I was thinking perhaps he’s dealt with people who, y’know hadn’t washed for maybe a few months. Or perhaps, someone who had an extra arm and 14 nipples. When the words left my mouth, I was wondering what the actual fuck was wrong with me. After him mumbling something about professional training (because obviously) and the usual standard of clients being quite “normal”, he then went on to say the last words I expected.

“Well usually, I suppose I get a bit wary when someone comes along, say, straight from work, and they haven’t cleaned up yet. You know, like, they’re all sweaty.”

All. Sweaty.

Like my disgustingly sweaty Osteo Pants. NICE.

That was the moment when I decided to not ask any more questions, and to also research my pants a little better. I contemplated some kind of manoeuvre where I might be able to slide through the hole in the bed table thing, across the floor, under the door and never reappear again. I also thought about making sure I ALWAYS have baby wipes in my bag, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing. I always have spare pants; that’s like some unwritten Law Of Woman. But exactly when or how I’m supposed to change my pants when my osteo is RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR is beyond me.

I’m one pair of pants down, and have 3 pairs to go. They are big and black, pretty sure I can’t go wrong.

In other news, I’m now signed off to fortnightly appointments. This reassures me!! YAY I can move! …unless he’s trying to tell me something.

Shit.