I have a new chiropractor...

I'm in love.

Again.

With a back-crackin' fool.

(Will I never learn?)

I'd been seeing my regular chiropractor for quite some time, and the pain in my shoulder subsided enough to be bearable, but the pain in my lower back was increasing to Grandma-ish levels, so I went to the health fair.

And there he was. Right next to the skeleton.

Our eyes locked, and it was as if the sky opened up and angels started singing.

"Would you like to make an appointment?" he whispered into my half-opened mouth.

"Yes, YES, YES!!" I screamed with ecstasy, tossing my hair from side to side, and ripping my blouse from my shoulders.

His assistant (who is way prettier on a regular day than I was at prom -- and younger, too) handed me a card and a smile and sent me on my way.

All I had to do now was wait three days. (And wipe the drool from my chin.)

I felt bad cheating on my old chiropractor, but, truth be told, he wasn't really helping me all that much and I was just going back because it was free. The new chiropractor, though... yeah, he's free, too. (And he offers massage!)

"Dr. Jack," as Cutesy McGee at the front desk calls him, is probably all of 30, if even that. He looks dapper in his black scrubs, and has the harried look of a guy who is trying to do seventy five things at once. (Probably because he is.)

He took x-rays of my back and it turns out that my right hip is (to use a technical term) "all cocked up." And my lumbar spine is crooked. And my neck is curved the wrong way. And I'm single.

Oh, wait, that just slipped out.

To fix my hip, Dr. Jack will actually slam his body into my bent knee. I'll admit it, it's hot. I try to simply exhale, but, well, it comes out as more of a gasp. And (this is the sad part) I want him to think I'm awesome, so I relax my neck as much as humanly possible before he cracks it -- and I want you to know, not everyone can do this. I developed it through years of trust-building exercises in acting class. I doubt he even notices.

Tommy, the massage therapist, is an enormous muscle with hands that turn my back into pre-cooked meatloaf. Sweet as hell, but if you didn't know it, you'd be scared. Especially if he was taking his fist, jamming it into your hip socket, and swiveling your leg around. (He's good at what he does -- and likes Sinead O'Connor!)

It's the highlight of my day, going to the doctor. Which, now that I've written it down, makes me kind of sad.