People let me tell you ’bout my best friend.
It’s a red, rubber donut that’s soothing my bruised tail end.

People let me tell you ’bout it, it’s so crucial.
I’ve used it drivin’ in the car. Livin’ without it seems futile.
‘Cause it’s my best friend.

It’s almost like I’m a savant with the lyrics, huh? You’re singing it to yourself right now, yes? I kid, of course. Most of you haven’t a clue which song that even is aping, and you are the better for it. Those of you that do, you have my sympathies. I can only hope that either this version or the original don’t begin to loop in your head. However, for you loopers, I have a substitute. I’ve been singing this bad boy enthusiastically around the house for 3 weeks. I’d like to say I’ve been receiving standing ovations on the reg. I haven’t received a single one. It’s a jaunty tune. Just substitute red, rubber donut for red, hooded sweatshirt. Feel free to substitute other lyrics as well to make the song more sensical. Reach for the stars, my friends. Also, bonus points if you can get someone to fulfill the Nealon duties. I had to do it myself. With exuberance.

An irritated aside. I just searched up my red, rubber donut and DUDE! They are often called red, rubber invalid rings!! Come ON!

So, I bruised my coccyx. That’s the tailbone. And maybe you’re wondering how I did it. To you I say, that story isn’t getting told here. It’s embarrassing, and it’s only shared on a need-to-know basis. I fervently wish I didn’t need to know. I do know that I bruised my coccyx without being told by a medical professional because it’s impossible not to be issued that information constantly by your coccyx. People, I’ve gotta tell you that the tailbone is one complaining body part. And I guess if someone sat on you whenever they pleased without giving you a heads up first, you’d take great pleasure in whining your ass off when you weren’t feeling up to the task.

As the healing has progressed, I’ll often forget that my tailbone is only on the mend and not fully operational yet, and I’ll go to take a seat. Each time, as my tailbone makes contact, I’ll hear this cry, or utterance, or pained noise issue forth from somewhere, and I’m so busy with the confusion of the searing pain that is beginning to hit my radar that I’m not entirely certain what is happening. So, I’m trying to begin pain assessment and management procedures while also trying to understand where that awful noise is coming from. And then it dawns on me that I’m making that sound. I’m slightly appalled that I’m making this noise that sounds like something an animal might make, but I have to return my attention to pain management because the coccyx has awakened with a roar, and the coccyx is PISSED, you guys.

And you know how this goes, right? I’m, only now, getting to the point of my post. When I was pregnant with my first kid, labor wasn’t going so very well. The doctor came in with a ruler, a compass, a protractor, a calculator, some graph paper, and a very uneasy-looking engineer, and there was a discussion about what things would and would not fit in which places. Look, I’m trying to be as gentle as possible with you guys here. Here’s where it gets interesting. The doctor told us that he could break my coccyx in order to deliver the little dude, and the recovery time would be 3 weeks. PEOPLE!!!!! I am retroactively calling that doctor out on his shit right now. Because that would have been a broken tailbone, instead of the bruised tailbone that I have now. That would have taken a great deal longer than three weeks to heal, since it has taken about three weeks for the bruised one to heal. I’m not great at math, but I’m reasonably certain that broken > bruised. And how fun would that have been with a newborn? I probably don’t need to tell you that we did not go that route.

Feed my skull resident...

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