Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Suspects SOMEBODY Of Stabbing A Voodoo Doll In Her Likeness

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not a giant woman. She's more than five-and-a-half feet tall, but less than six. So chopping things on her kitchen counter should not cramp her style. It's not like she's a contender for a Guinness Book record. Surely the standard-height countertop would not tax the sacroiliac of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. But it does.

There I was, chopping mushrooms, slicing a tomato, readying a baked potato for The Pony...when my back was slammed with a spasm that made me unsteady. I tried to lean back to escape the clenching clutches of this spasm. Tried walking around all bent over backwards, as The Pony might do if he wanted to help people, which we know he doesn't. That tactic was not very effective, because it's pretty darn hard to chop mushrooms and slice tomatoes and butter a potato while bent over backwards.

My mom always said I came from a long line of bad backs on her side of the family. I would think a description of a crooked line of bad backs, perhaps, would be more useful, since I associate long with a straight line stretched out, not a curving clenched spasm. Anyhoo, apparently her brother in Alaska had a tough time with his back, and others before him.

It hurts along the place where one's butt crack begins, if one was uncouth enough to discuss one's butt crack on a super secret blog. The muscles there (yes, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has muscles in her butt) lock up tightly, like when you get one of those foot cramps that bows your foot down like the letter C. Or one in your calf area that points your foot like a ballerina. I'm not one for getting Charlie Horses, so I can't similize that one.

Sometimes if I sit down and lean the right way, the spasm eases, and I feel normal again. As normal as Mrs. Hillbilly Mom ever is. This getting old is for the birds. For red-rubbery-necked turkey vultures.

I sure hope my back is not spasmy once I retire! Which is less than 365 days away, you know!