You probably have visions of those cute little Rice Krispy elves pouring milk on a heap of cereal in a bowl and then bending over to listen to the Rice Krispies song. I'm not. Or, at least I'm not now.
When I first heard those three sounds, there was nary a cereal bowl in sight. There was only a chiropractic table and my seething hatred for the person who suggested I book an appointment for a consultation.
My back had been hurting for the past month or so (it still is by the way, thanks Spaff!) so being reactive as opposed to proactive, I booked an appointment to find out what the hell is wrong with me. (With my back, people, my back! My mental capacity is not under review here.) I'd never been to a chiropractor though I had been curious. I'm no longer curious. Now I know. Snap, Crackle, Pop. This is followed by a ream of expletives that would make a Tourette's Syndrome kid blush.
After getting over the initial shock of having this little girl (I say little girl, but she's my age but really, really tiny - a compact fireball) crack my back and manipulate my spine and my pelvis to where it's supposed to be and I'm feeling a bit better. I'm still a little shell-shocked and feel like I've just come out of battle, but my war wounds are on the mend. I've got ice packs on top of ice packs and now I'm extremely cautious about how I move.
I think this was the problem in the first place. I work a desk job, eight to nine hours a day sitting in the same position, twisting to get the always ringing, never answered phone, finding my shoulders consistently rising and resting closer and closer to my ears as the day goes on. Now, I must take a moment every half hour to walk around with an ice pack stuffed down the back of my pants. Not all the way - just enough that the bulk of the pack is resting on my lower back and newly adjusted pelvic region.
It sounds like I'm talking about sex, but I'm not. I enjoy sex. I enjoy massage. I do not enjoy snap, crackle, pop. Sorry guys. You're confined to my kitchen cupboard and not my boudoir or any table I might be straddling. I wonder if I'll be table dancing after the initial sessions are over? Given my dismount from my first visit, it will be on my hands and knees searching for my tear-encrusted tissues.
Snap, Crackle, Pop my ass.