Years ago I had a hip replacement, and I liked the scar so damn much that I recently did the other one. Luckily, I’m finally out of hips to throw on the operating table because this time around I was disappointed—no, make that devastated, shattered, and a smidge more cuckoo bananas than usual.
Oh, the surgery itself was all rainbows, no pain, a quick recovery, and I’m grateful. But I’d done prior research online and told my doctor I wanted the new feather-light Styrofoam model, priced for a quick sale on Hardware Hank’s clearance page. But, no. He put in standard stock, comprised of elements listed in a nerdy piece of fluff called the Periodic Table. So, what’s the problem? Well, because Dr. Fancy-Pants vetoed a Styrofoam joint, my hope for an instant six-pound weight loss circled down the firetruckin’ drain, that’s what.
Family and friends initially rallied ’round me. But I keenly sensed that my whining had run its course when a few claimed sudden hearing loss. Others, seeing me approach, faked seizures.
So I shut up and cleaned house. Hmm. What to do with my leftover invalid supplies? I phoned a friend who was miraculously cured of deafness and seizures, thank God! She offered to put an ad with my number on Craigslist. Great! I rattled off a list of “sick supplies”: Packs of bandages and tape, lightweight medical gloves, a “donut” cushion, a plastic tube with ropes for sliding socks on, and a stick with a pincher for picking up items. Yeah, most were free from the hospital, but what the hell. On impulse, I included a few dog accessories in the ad.
Holy hookers at Halliburton! My phone rang off the hook! Yeah, “off the hook” is a dying phrase, but my phone vibrated right off the lanyard around my neck. Don’t laugh, the AARP phone has inch-high numbers and a lanyard is mandatory. Wisconsin state law.
Anyway, 83 missed calls!!?? In my backwater life this was a shiny gold moment!! Were people really this desperate for cheap medical crap? For worn out leashes? And many of the male callers were, oh, so friendly! Comments were odd, but I crave attention and replayed them many times. A sampling:
• Yo. About the ad, so you got tapes too, huh? Cool. You in ’em?
• I’m interested in the pincher thing…if it don’t leave no marks.
• Will take everything but the gloves. Who the hell uses gloves?
• Will the donut hold two? Heh heh, Lemme buy you a drink and let’s talk.
Curious, I hopped onto Craigslist to check out the ad. Well, gimme a Golly, and a side of Gee Whiz! Seems that my friend’s listening skills, spelling and judgment were (sigh) a bit lacking.
The heading screamed BONDAGE PACKS!!!
Okay, then. That shed new light on the tidal wave of responses. And to my friend’s credit, the profusion of exclamation points did impart a hint of zippy squeal.
But, here’s the deal. Ain’t none of my beeswax what consenting adults consent to do consensually when a consenting-and-doing mood consents to hit them. However, I’m not a bondage kind of gal. I freak out while wrestling my way into a turtleneck with tight sleeves.
That said, my virgin entry on Craigslist read:
BONDAGE PACKS!! Bondage and sex supplies, also lots of tapes! Donut cushion to maintain leg angles. Hygienic second-skin gloves. Big stick with pincher, gets results!! Plastic tube with ropes. Leather collars and leashes. All items in excellent condition. Selling because I no longer need any of them after two joints.
While I ponder my next step, the phone continues ringing.