Aftermath

Day four: Finds the girl, showered, dressed and standing in the doctors office in front of the illuminated x-ray machine. The good doc has left her waiting in this room far too long and she has flicked on the machine to examine herself from the inside alone. She stares, open mouthed and horrified at what she is seeing on the bright screen. The door opens and she turns, mouth still agape as the Dr enters the room. He hastily flicks off the softly humming screen, aggravated by her unautorized action. They head for the consulting table with her medical file tucked under the care givers arm, safety out of her reach. But she does not want to witness his sympathetic side step jig when he musters the courage to break the bad news to her. Her eyes have confirmed just what she did not come to hear.
"You know there are treatments, that might help you," he said. "Prosthetics."
With a grandiose wave of the hand, he flicks the black and white x-ray on. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the abnormality in her upper abdomen. "What did those people do to me when they did that experimental transplant? What exactly did they put in me?", she though as her raised her accusatory finger at the odd shapes outlined on the screen, but the correct answer came to her. "BRA HOOKS!", she blurted, now fully understanding what she was looking at.
Good thing there was a professional in the room at that time to point out the spare bone she had grown that was protruding out of the bottom left on the image, causing her pain. A tail is a thing of nature she thought. A tail she can live with, with a shoe lift and a butt pad to sit on and the occasional adjustment. Might even put a stop to the headache and violent PMS. But treatment could not cure the massive amount of gas that the doctor further went on to point out in the x-ray. So the gimpy munkay shoved the new lift into her sandal, left the doctor a silent but deadly bomb and clumped out of the room.

Day five: After refusing to repeat the hated unemployment mantra Hubby has been coaching her *, she finds herself somewhere south of the cities, in some parking lot that had she been paying any attention, might have learned was Burnsville, or Owatona, had she not been stuffing her mouth with fresh apples, trying to eat them faster than the driver, while pretending to ask pertainet questions while longing for her new friend butt pad. **Her Cell phone rang after the forth hour of down pour and she watched the current wash her new lift out of her sandal as she stood by the sweet corn counting out a dozen perfectly ripe ears to the Gucci wrapped Asian lady. She briefly considered chasing it down stream to the lower end of the parking lot, racing the spongy pad to rescue it before it reached gutter but it was more important to make the correct small talk with her hopefully new employer . Later, as she shivered like a dirty wet mop on the edge of the truck seat as it bounced on the detour that added another miserable hour to her day, she wondered if it was too late to crawl to the edge of the river, where interstate 35 had collapsed and throw her self in, and damn her state of being.

*I am unemployable. The lowliest of the low. A determent to my honey.Therefore I must do whatever he asks.
**It was a farmers market damn it. My teenager's place of employment who love my son for his work ethic was short on help as their employee's have returned to collage, needed someone to fill in. I like to pretend that I was working at "advertisement and marketing", but it was a damn farmers market. I did it to get away from hubby and his mantra.

to be continued....