Buttocks and Cheese

Apparently I have a defective buttock. I have been reliably informed, by my Pilates instructor, that it has gone to sleep to the point of being comatose which means that my right buttock cheek is having to carry the lazy little bastard. What this means, in practical terms, is that my right buttock is constantly poking my pain sensors in a desperate attempt to get my attention and tell me to give it a rest for a couple of days.

Being a stubborn sort I decided that I am not going to be dictated to by my own buttock so I’ve been ignoring it and just hoping that it will man up and realise that it can do the work of two. It can’t, apparently, and this morning I was forced to apologise to it and submit to a heavy duty sports massage.

I’ve telling my Pilates teacher for ages that she should carry a leather belt for clients to bite down on during this type of massage but she insists it’s just a matter of focusing on something else and breathing through the pain. To this end, during my last deep tissue massage she asked my to name my 3 favourite cheeses. I should explain at this point that she has a severe cheese addiction, made worse by living on the border between France and Italy. What those two nations can do with cheese makes gourmets everywhere weep with lust.

Anyway, I digress, I did as she asked and, ever since, I seem to have developed a Pavlovian response to pain. During a particularly painful buttock prodding moment this morning an image of Gouda with cumin seeds popped into my head completely unprompted. Oddly the pain receded and my buttock has, for the time being, entered a more relaxed state. As for the left one, I’m tempted to just poke it with a fork until it wakes up and starts earning its keep!

Bit of a strange morning really! How are things with you guys

Lisa

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