Nights are long in March, long and chilly with heavy winds blowing across the ocean. I thought about building a fire and got over it. Boo Boo snaked around my ankles until I emptied a can of cat food into his bowl and he forgot about me. My new doctor’s jacket felt a bit snug when I finally removed it. What the hell, I thought, must be a different brand. NO, stop fooling yourself and admit you like to eat BUT you don’t live to eat and you’ve got to set a good example for your little patients so don’t overdo it.
Welcome Sixers and friends as the year, like all good stories, hurries to a conclusion. I say what’s the rush? Take your time; savor each moment while we’re here. Last week our young woman on the beach was stumbled upon by, what else, a handsome young man. She’s concerned once he discovers her not-so-svelte body, he’ll run screaming away. The plot thickens. At this point, he’s concerned she might be injured under the thick cover of wet sand.
“I’m Tony Flannigan, physical therapist at the clinic in town and I work free-lance.”
Expert hands examined my neck, shoulders and fingers reached through curly blond hair to press my scalp. Peering through my dark wrap-around sun glasses, Tony smiled the whitest smile on the East coast and said, “Are your ribs okay?”
Panic set in because Tony wouldn’t be able to find my ribs with all the donuts stuck to them. A lesson from childhood to clean your plate because good food sticks to your ribs. I sat up, slipped the big beach wrap over my head and shoulders and said I was fine.