Dear Darling Ones,

Back at the turn of the century I lived in a shitty apartment in Prior Lake down the road from a pub & restaurant called Hooligans. This was during the bowling alley era, and since it was the closest restaurant to the bowling alley that could seat us all, my family ate there a lot.

To be fair, everybody in the Prior Lake/Savage area ate there a lot at the time. Pickin’s were slim in that area during the early aughts. I remember going on a first date at Hooligans and running into my mom’s cousin, his wife, and their kids, who stopped at our table to say hi. Still a little surprised the earth recovered from that much accumulated awkward at one time in one setting.

Every time we’d go, Sister #2 would order a sandwich called “Oh My Bacon Back.” I can’t remember exactly what it was, maybe a grilled cheese with bacon? She loved the sandwich and hated ordering it. It probably didn’t help that whenever she told the waitress what she wanted the rest of the Sister Club would bust out laughing (as daughters of a waitress we’re very good tippers, so no need to worry about our poor server). The sandwich must have been pretty damn good, because who would put themselves through that on the reg?

I haven’t been to ol’Hooligans since my uncle George died in 2014. And yet, whenever I hurt my back I think of the sandwich and say, “Oh my bacon back” every time I have to move and feel loads of pain.

Aside from general, mild backaches caused by sitting too long, standing too long, stooping too long over the counter, weird back cramps during my period, and my favorite way humans harm our fragile, delicate bodies, sleeping wrong, I manage to pull a muscle in my back about every ten years.

The first time was in my twenties. I worked at a gas station and pulled the change bag out of the floor safe to lift it onto the counter and I must have lifted that shit with my back, because ouch. I was out of work for a week and never realized how important my back was to living a pain-free life.

The last time I hurt my back before this time was bending to get a pan out of the cupboard so I could make my nephews hotdogs. Wednesday night I hurt it putting fresh sheets on my bed. It was one of those moments where you wish you could rewind 10 seconds and not do what you just did. In this case, I was trying to get a better grip on a heavy comforter while walking. As soon as my foot hit the ground my back shouted, “OH HELL NO.”

The worst part about pulling a muscle, at least for me, isn’t the pain (she types ridiculously as if she wasn’t a giant baby about all the pain yesterday but now that it’s subsiding she’s all “it’s not so bad”). Okay, that was stupid. The pain is the worst part and people who live with chronic pain, I am sorry, I don’t know how you do it.

How about this. . . one of the things that sucks about hurting my back and thus having to think about my back is that every time I do, I remember a guy I dated in my thirties. This guy bragged that he was good at two things, back rubs and oral sex. Guess what, Darling Ones? He was a liar. Well, I am 100% sure he’s at least a partial liar. He was not good at going down on ya girl and would frequently whine about how it hurt his tongue.

I’m not so sure about the back rub part because he rubbed my back once for seventeen seconds and then said, “Your back is too long.”

Yeah.

Boo, that dude. I wish I kicked him out of my bed and my life as soon as that sentence left his mouth. I did not. However, I did break up with him shortly thereafter because he gave me a rather large stuffed Minnie Mouse for my birthday. I was like thirty-two. It was uncalled for.

Anyway, my too long back is feeling much better now.

Love,
Jodi