Folks,

My ass is very sore. Now, before you go inventing your own salacious reasons for why this may be, let me give you the scoop - a scoop involving inept medical providers, a motorcycle and one right foot.

Poor Ladybetrothed Sarah did some kind of nasty thing to her right foot on Saturday night. She doesn't really know what, but by Sunday morning it was obvious that something was wrong. The ball of her foot and her entire big toe looked like they were part of a beige clown shoe. Not good.

Anyway, after much urging she went to see her doctor. Her doctor wasn't available, but unfortunately Ms. Bitchy Physician's Assistant was. MBPA immediately diagnosed the problem as gout, ignoring completely that LS is a) not a middle-aged dude or post-menopausal woman b) not a heavy drinker and c) not a large consumer of animal fat. People, I'm not doctor, but even I knew this was a load of shit.

Now, despite LS's protestations, MBPA put her on gout medicine. The neat thing about gout medicine is that it comes into your stomach and intestines, gives everyone in there about two hours to move out on their own and then gets very medieval on anyone remaining. Fun.

After a day of this "treatment" LS went to get a second opinion and some X-rays, this time from a real doctor. His opinion was that MBPA is a moron and that LS has just got some nasty irritated ka-ka in this particular joint. He wrote her a couple prescriptions, advised ice and elevation and sent her home. This was more like it, I thought.

Anywho, I volunteered to go and get LS's prescriptions because, well, she's a cripple. I hit CVS and handed the two slips over, noticing only then that one of the prescriptions was for crutches. It said "Kindly provide a set of crutches." What is this, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman 1872? You can't write a prescription for crutches! Again, I'm no doctor but even I know this shit.

So I handed over the prescriptions, fully expecting the lady at the pharmacy to take one look at the crutches script and start laughing. She, in fact, did just that. Dag.

I returned home with one prescription but now needed to fill the other - to find the proverbial crutches. I got on the internet and soon realized I would have to go to a medical supply store. However, the closest one was about two miles away. Making the mistake of assuming things would work out, I got on the bike and headed to the store.

Anywho, at the shop I picked up a sweet set of aluminum crutches and was happy my ordeal was over. Well, not quite over. I incorrectly assumed that when broken down the various crutch pieces would fit easily into my bag. This was, of course, not the case. And so I was left standing on the side of the road with two crutches, a motorcycle, a fiance with ka-ka in her foot and no idea what to do.

I finally decided to bite the bullet. I laid the crutches down on the seat of the bike and sat on top of them, wedging one of the crutch legs between my poor cheeks in order to keep everything stable.

Now, I don't recommend this style of riding to anyone. It isn't safe and, if you know the streets of Cambridge, it makes your poor ass feel like it took a severe Singaporean caning. But, despite its flaws, the gambit worked and LS has rejoined the world of functioning, mobile human beings. And people, isn't that what's really important?