Real Men/Women of Genius #33

[Again, thanks for this basic idea is owed to our friend Nancy Shura-Dervin.]

Ingelhook Wineries present…

REAL WOMEN OF GENIUS

{Real gals of geeeeeene-yuss}

Today we raise our glass to you, Miss “I’ve-Got-A-Secret (Pain) And Can-Anybody-Help-Me-Cure-It?”

{Miss “oh helllllllllllllllllllllllp-me-pleeeeeease, I have an ouwie!”}

You know who you are. Yesterday’s run suddenly produced a strange itch on your body that doesn’t seem to go away until you take your shorts off. So, now you’re trying to “connect” with some dweefus on the running listserv who’s had what you’ve got and knows how to fix it.

{Wheeeeeeeeeere do yooooooou live annnnnny-weigh?}

You’ve been in rehab, so you know all the buzz words. “Flexor retinaculum” and “superior peroneal retinaculum.” Whoa. The rest of us may need to consult our old earmarked paperback copies of “Gray’s Anatomy,” but these things you write certainly *seem* sincere. But maybe they’ll “heel” themselves after you take your shoes off.

{“Butttt whuhhh-dah-bout my lo-wer legggggggg pain?”}

Gastrocs muscle knots? Achilles tendonitis? Metatarsal syndrome, and hammertoes with possible hangnails? Please. Maybe the twenty-seven-physician associates’ clinic in the shopping mall might provide you better service than three thousand geekified drinkers with a running problem can.

{“Maaaaaaay-be if I driiiiiiiiiiink morrrrrrrre Gatorade?”}

Still, there’s bound to be some helpful rah-sponse coming from some-odd member of the opposite sex who couldn’t ever possibly have suffered the same abdominal pain as you’ve apparently got. We guess that doofus could cycle through an entire year without ever cramping in quite the same way. Ya think?

{“It just seeeeeeeeeeeeeems to hittttt mee once-a-month!”}

So ease the cork out gently from your properly-chilled bottle of White Zinfandel, O Constant Writer-Inner to the Dear Abby Column, because you, dear, happen to be The Enabler that makes all of our helpful, friendly, kind, courteous, brave, clean, and reverent male listserv “non-doctors” possible.

{Miss “I’ve-Got-A-Secret (Pain) And Can-Annnny-*body*-Help-Me-Cure-It!”}

White Zinfandel yuppie wine: we don’t drink it ourselves; we’d rather guzzle beer.

( O_O )

Yours troubly,

Rich Limacher
TheTroubadour@sbcglobal.net

Yankee Folly of the Day:
And now what… we’re all fretting over whether or not any other frickin’ runner WAVES at us?