The Cure

I'm cured. I can feel my leg.

The Matador took me to a sports Chiropractor. (Is looking for love a sport?) The man cured me with crazy contraptions one of which was a gigantic black vibrating thing. I said, "Don't you DARE come near me with that thing." He laughed.

Guess who was to blame for my paralyzed right leg?

You guessed it. It was the King.

The Chiropractor advised the "problem" was my left hip. Huh? Did you run into something, like a desk perhaps, about a week ago?"

"Uh...No." I replied. (I did however run into The King.)

In talking to "The King" he reminded me that he'd carried me to my bedroom, ya know, before I slapped him. You can't do that without smashing my head, (in this case hip) against the door jam. I told him that I since I got old I can't remember a thing. He said said since he met me me he can't remember where he is or whether or not he has kids. (He does.)

Then the Matador took me to lunch. When he picked me up he stopped his car in the middle of the street. He rushed around to open the door. He is very good looking and full of Argentinian bravado. I saw my neighbours. They were are all watching. They stop raking, stop watering the yard, stop everything...to look at us. I thought about blowing kissess...

I was a chatterbox. Either The Matador could care less or he doesn't understand English.

He just stared at my boobs.