Spines and pants

Once upon a time about two years ago, my friend Melissa gave me a coupon for a chiropractor on the off-chance it would help me with my migraines. So I show up at his office, and sit there waiting for a bit staring at the plaques on the walls. 

When he comes in, the first thing out of my mouth was “How come your name on the certificates doesn’t match your name on your business card?” He was a bit taken aback, but answered my question [the answer involves nicknames], and then talked to me about spinal adjustment stuff, and although I don’t know what I said, I am pretty certain that I gave off a sort of “I’m-in-the-medical-field-don’t-hoodwink-me” vibe. That, combined with a “I-say-what-I-think” attitude, can put people off, but he was surprisingly flexible—even for a chiropractor—and so I agreed to get adjusted. Unfortunately, not for my attitude.

He seemed to think it the highlight of his week (or month or whatever) to have me visit and observe that his decor was from the 80s, or that his electrical panel was open, or that his tie was particularly odd. In turn, he would ask if there was a “Mr. Sara” in my life. When I questioned him on his use of epithets, he claimed that clearly whoever I dated would be a sort of second-fixture to me; that I wouldn’t allow anyone else to take charge; and that I of course would be the one wearing the pants. Well, firstly, it’s obviously a bad idea to wear a skirt on a chiropractor’s table, so of course I’m gonna wear pants. Secondly, I usually don’t go by “Sara.” And thirdly, I have no interest in dating a pushover. That would be very, very boring.

I saw him again last month, and he told me that I had inspired him to update his furnishings a little bit. In return of such confidence, I told him I was dating someone. But I don’t call him Mr. Sara. I call him Mark. [although sometimes, to make fun of a French term of endearment, I call him “flea.” He doesn’t find it endearing.]

I don’t wear “the pants.” As far as I can tell, Mark doesn’t wear “the pants.” The novel thing about pants is that there are two “sleeves” allowing for greater flexibility while optimizing coverage. Sometimes one pant leg might be in front, sometimes the other might [this is called “walking”]. In other words, if this analogy is not yet clear, Mark and I function together; sometimes I’m the one making the suggestions, sometimes he is, but that back-and-forth definitely keeps the relationship moving. No seams have busted yet, so I’d say we’re doing a-okay.

We make a good pair of pants.