Many years ago I was dealing with significant ankle pain. And so, like every reasonable, logical individual would do, I booked an appointment at the local physio clinic.
The physiotherapist was an older lady, probably in her 60s, and the moment I walked in the door she struck me as cold, and a little bit odd. "So what brings you here ....mister...G...(people can never pronounce my last name)". "I've had discomfort in my right ankle for several weeks, it doesn't seem to be going away...I've tried ice, heat, rest even...". "Oh my, you have quite the mouth on you...are you done, hun?" she said stoically. I detected what seemed to be an Eastern European accent, and with a scarf wrapped around her neck, she reminded me of a Russian babushka.
An odd conversation, to say the least, ensued. "Ok, take clothes off and I be back." "Sorry, its my first time (head out of the gutter please), not sure what you mean, I just take everything off ?" "Only to underwear yes you can keep short" "But I don't have shorts" "Ok I bring you pair". She came back with a pair of shorts fit for a Harlem Globetrotter (I'm only 5 foot 9) but now was no time to start arguing with this grim looking dictator.
She proceeded to look at me, up and down, like an army sergeant looks at a new recruit. "Walk" she demanded as if this was a puppy obedience class. So I walked, or rather, limped around. "Ok, good, you sit down". She then started bombarding me with questions about my eating habits, my posture, sleep pattern, even inquired about my childhood. "Are you eating enough vegetables, you need eat lots of green vegetables lots of calcium. You may be lacking magnesium too. You eat spinach?" "Uh, yes, lots" I replied, doing my best Popeye impression.
She then started to put her hands around my neck. Was she going to try to suffocate me? Was this her solution to take away the ankle pain? At this point I wasn't ruling anything out. "I noticed you look very anxious, nervous too, bad breathing habits." (Ok, but I came here for my ankle not a psychological assessment?)
The General then left the room for a few seconds, and came back wearing latex gloves. "Open mouth wide". "Excuse me? Why mouth wide (I had started, inadvertently to speak like her)? Sorry, maybe I didn't explain it properly, it's just a sore ankle. That's all it is". "No is more than that. Your breathing is causing a misalignment in everything we need fix your breathing, open up your jaw, I will help expand the airways". I began sweating profusely, as she proceeded to put her hand in my mouth, stretching it wide open as if trying to turn me into the Joker. Perhaps the Moscow Christmas Choir was in town and they were looking for someone to play the trumpet?
"Close your eyes and relax, focus on breathing" she said. Now both her index and middle finger were rubbing my gums round and round, pressing hard. Breathing calmly was the last thing I was able to do at that moment. "Bite the finger then open mouth big. Do few times". I obliged with the felatio proxy, out of sheer fear for my life. But this was getting obscene and inappropriate. I hadn't realized I was visiting Dr Ruth.
How the heck was a wobbly ankle connected to my jaw, my gums, why did I have to bite her damn latex finger? Was this a treatment or a fetish? Seemingly this lady was having a field day at my expense. If you have have toe nail fungus do they pull on your ear, pluck your eyebrows or put a pencil up your nostrils? All I could do at this point was laugh. In my head of course, given I couldn't muster the strength to move away her strong fingers that had overtaken my mouth.
As I finally escaped the Turkish prison, the only rational explanation that I could come up with was that I was being filmed. You know, perhaps as part of a Just for Laughs gag, or who knows featured as a sequel to the Truman show? Either way, I limped like Oswald Cobblepot back to my car and never looked back.
