I recently had surgery. It took six weeks to recover, but that wasn’t the worst part. The pain certainly was no fun, but the worst part of it all was the cervical collar I had to wear. For six weeks! In the summer!
This contraption wrapped around my neck, holding my head up stiffly so that I couldn’t look to my right or left. Cushion-covered plastic held my head tightly in its grip, and after just a few minutes outside, the material became soaked in sweat. So I had to wash it every night with the material becoming more worn and frayed.
It was awful.
But more irritating than that was my sister, the middle child. She thought the collar was a hoot and looked like those cones worn by dogs to protect wounds. She called it the “collar of shame” and told me that my collar was to prevent me from licking my privates.
I wanted to smack her but felt too miserably sore.
But in the end, she was paid back, and what happened to her was worse than me wearing a collar of shame.
Several weeks ago, my sister received her husband’s paycheck and knew she had to rush to the bank to deposit the money for him in a special account. He works out of town several days a week. So she grabbed her purse, the car keys to her husband’s car which she was temporarily using, the check, and rushed out the door to go to the bank.
Upon arrival at the bank, she parked and walked to the door when she suddenly realized that she had forgotten to bring along the account card needed to deposit the check.
Frustrated, she muttered to herself and stomped back to the car. Climbing in, she suddenly caught a whiff of a terrible odor. Looking down at her sandals she saw a mess….dog poop. It was all over her sandal, and now on her husband’s carpeted car mat.
Huffing, she got back out of the car and walked over to a tree. Picking up a small stick, she began trying to wipe the poop from the bottom of her shoe while hopping on one foot. The stick broke and her bare hand went sliding across the bottom of her shoe. Now it was all over her hand.
Extremely aggravated, she leaned over to put her sandal back on and that’s when a tremendous wind came through the parking lot. The breeze caught the bottom of her sundress and sent it sailing up and over her head.
I called it a “tail wind”.
There she was, holding a sandal with one hand, dog poop on the other hand, and her dress over her head while hopping on one foot.
Did I mention that this bank is located on a busy highway…with a lot of traffic…and a stop light in front of the bank?
She quickly dropped her shoe, yanked down her dress, walked to the car, grabbed a tissue to cover her nasty hand, and drove straight home. After cleaning herself up and cleaning up the car’s upholstery, she grabbed the account card and drove back to the bank.
It was closed.
The moral of this story is never make fun of an older sister who is wearing a cervical collar. Later, my sister called me to tell me this story and check to see how I was feeling.
“I am sorry I teased you about your collar,” she said. “Karma paid me back. And to make matters worse, when my dress flew up, I was wearing my old, ugly underwear.”
“That’s okay. Don’t feel bad,” I said. “I can’t see with this collar on, and when I went to the restroom, I discovered that I am wearing a pair of underwear our 86-year-old mother left at my house. I thought they felt odd.”
Granny panties and a collar of shame. It doesn’t get much worse.
