Hot Rock Therapy

So I'm watching the TV news this morning with Mrs. Wiggy, a hot cuppa joe, two wet and soggy dogs, and three frenetic cats, and my eyeballs are having a little trouble with this whole 'waking up' concept. I'm nodding through the weather report - yes, it's raining, got that, thanks. I'm doing the bobbing-head thing through the latest series of debates by the local school board and the scandal involving state employees, some guy trying to explain how he thought a snowmobile was a gift for a job well done, not a bribe. Uh-huh. I get snowmobiles all the time. Garage is stuffed with them. I never know which one to ride here where it never snows. I know people who give each other snowmobiles every other Friday. I don't mind a crook, as long he's entertaining. This guy is not. Off with his head! I wander out to the kitchen to refresh the go-juice cup.

Well, one thing leads to another, and soon enough, the caffeine has done it's evil work. I'm looking down the barrel of another day in the life of His Wigginess. Joy aboundeth. Huzzah. They oughta put morphine in the coffee. That would be a big seller. Bring back laudanum, that's what I say.

Mrs. Wiggy sees a commercial for some resort spa for women, a place where one can retreat from the cares and woes of modern living and enjoy being pampered and coddled in a way that no husband can ever provide. Oh, we'll heat up a can of Chicken Noodle Soup if you're sick, and maybe rub your feet for you, or your back once in awhile, but we're not big on the aromatherapy and being in tune with your emotions and so on. We're more into stretching, farting, and scratching. We're good at that. World class. Being one with our (which means 'your') feelings? Not so much. Of course, this is not the type of thing anxious husbands all over the world want me to say. Oops. Sorry guys.

So here's the TV commercial for the women's resort spa, and they're showing some poor woman having rocks piled up on her back. Oh my God! They're torturing the poor thing! Eek!

Mrs. Wiggy reassures me that this is considered pleasureable by the women to whom it occurs. Hot, smooth, stones - placed in secret and ancient kabbalistic patterns on a woman's back - bring about inner serenity, calm, relaxation, and a state where even the concept of my massive and uncompleted 'honey dew' list or the mental image of one of our evil dogs devouring another yard of linoleum floor fails to cause her stress. Total bliss, in other world. Imagine my surprise.

So I'm thinking to myself that I vaguely recall reading that piling stones on people was once a form of torture used against people accused of witchcraft. I'll bet they had no idea that they would have had to pay big bucks in today's world to have similar treatments.

I wonder what else that was once considered torture would now be considered physical therapy?

"So, how's the ducking stool then, Mrs. Jones?"

"Ooh, it's lovely. All that water forced up my nose has had a wonderul effect on my sinuses, and the constant up-and-down motion reminds me that life has its ups and downs, so I should keep a good mental attitude and not try to respond to every little thing that disturbs my equilibrium."

"Well, that's just great. Another ten minutes, I think; then we'll administer CPR, as you'll most likely be drowned by then. If we manage to revive you, would you like a followup appointment?"

"That would be terrific. I wish my husband could be here to enjoy this too. Simple fool, he'd rather drink beer and scratch himself."

"Well, we know how those men are. Well, I've got to run, we're doing a mock execution on Mrs. Terwilliger at two o'clock. We think it will help her address her anxiety about the future."

"Probably be great for the digestion, too, eh?"

"No doubt, it seems to have an effect, we're currently researching that for our next TV ad."

Could be I'm wrong about this whole thing. I often am, you know. I'm just a man. I kinda wish I still smoked - I'd burn myself with a cigarette to see if this theory of mine has any validity. I'd probably be violating some retreat spa's exclusive 'smoking aversion therapy' program, though.

Well, back to the coffee. Peace be upon you. Unless you like hot rocks on your back, in which case, enjoy the, um, therapy. I'll stick to scratching where it itches. But you knew I'd say that, didn't you?

Wagging Tails,

Wiggy

PS - Great band I heard recently; Red Delicious. I especially like the song "Casualties." Just another musical tip from your ol' Uncle Wiggy.