Ever’body’s gettin’ new knees, new hips, and what not. It’s an epidemic of elective surgery. And I’m talkin’ big money. An investor definitely wants in on a trend like this, but what’s da best play?
Take Jonelis, my good friend and boss. Da guy up ‘n’ gets two brand new knees—AT DA SAME TIME! Seems crazy, don’t it? What’s he s’posed to use fer legs?
So right away I gotta play bigshot. I invite John to my penthouse fer da whole rest ‘n’ recovery thing. Yeah, you guessed it—I wanna play Da Good Samaritan over Christmas. I figure they’s gonna carry him in on a stretcher ‘n’ I’ll be da hero that arranges fer all sorts o’ people t’ help out while he’s bedridden. Shows how much I know.
Sometimes a guy gets faced with his own ignorance. Know what I mean? After two days, Jonelis checks outa da hospital and walks right into my place under his own steam. He’s accepting my offer. He’s stickin’ here fer da whole six weeks! My penthouse is now his personal spa!
I put ‘im in the biggest guest room—the one with a view o’ Da Lake AND da Chicago skyline. Then my dog Clamps deserts me and moves in with him.
Next thing you know, tradesmen start showin’ up, gettin’ in da way o’ my Christmas decorating crew.
- A plumber replaces da toilet with a throne near as tall as a barstool.
- Movers install an electric reclining bed that tilts his legs 30 degrees above horizontal.
- A carpenter shows up and installs cushioned tables, parallel bars, stairs that go nowhere, da works. Sure my penthouse is real big, but now I got a physical therapy facility insteada my dance floor. And 300 guests is coming.
- Then six huge exercise machines show up ‘n’ lots o’ furniture gets shoved back t’ make room.
- Then startlingly beautiful women show up unannounced.
One ‘o deeze ladies comes with da single-minded mission of assuring John’s wellbeing. She does all da stuff a nurse does—temperature, blood pressure, blood tests. She inspects his incisions. Does she shrink back in horror? No! “These are healing beautifully!” she exclaims with obvious ‘n’ genuine delight. They look like big sloppy wounds t’ me, but she’s da expert. And dis is da best dressed nurse I ever seen. No clunky white shoes. Shows up here in a real short skirt ‘n’ blouse cut way too low. I don’t think she wears underwear. I ask her on da sly if that’s da way all nurses dress nowadays. She blushes ‘n’ says, “It’s for the encouragement of the patient.” Hey, I feel encouraged, but she skips outa da door before I can take action.
And all da time, da purest narcotics is close at hand, should the whim lead to such pleasures. Oodles ‘n’ oodles of ‘em. And they’s all legal! And if you don’t like that, they got Acapulco Gold.
Did I mention da other woman? This one’s a long-legged exotic Asian gal, ready fer action in skintight leotards—a different color ‘n’ pattern every day. She’s PT—physical therapy. And she exercises with him—IN BED!
I ask her, “Why all dat equipment on da dance floor if you do yer work in bed?”
Her reply is matter of fact: “He’s still in the healing phase. The training phase comes later.”
Okay, but couldn’t they wait till he’s ready t’ set up all that equipment? Da way I see it, I’m stuck without a dance floor fer da big Christmas bash.
I peek in ‘n’ watch part o’ da session. Oh, the amazing positions she bends his legs! “Does this hurt?” she coos. Then she gushes shamelessly over the smallest physical accomplishments. I gotta admit, there’s no room fer a guy t’ indulge in self-pity under such circumstances, ‘n’ dat’s what makes her technique so effective. When this gal gets done, not only is a John’s body worked though da paces, but he’s under da delusion he’s Superman. Is there any bigger boost to da male ego than praise from a gorgeous, sexy, and intelligent female?
She covers his knees in ice, and is gone.
So I phone his wife, but she knows all about it. She says:
- “These are professionals. What’s the harm in it?”
- “It keeps him from slacking off on his PT.”
- “It gets him out of the house and out of my hair.”
- “What business is it o’ yours anyway, Loop Lonagan?”
Yeah, she tells me off real good. Sheesh! I feel like a heel.
I gotta ask myself, where did John find this combination outpatient therapy and modeling agency? I mean, these gals is likely t’ raise da spirits o’ any normal guy. I can sure see how they do a lot fer da morale of a patient just outa major surgery. I look in on John after she leaves. His hand trails down and scratches Clamps’ behind da ears. And all da time his eyes is gently closed, a big dumb grin on his kisser.
Both o’ these gals wear a cute heart-shaped logo. They’s from a new startup company called Pavlovian PT and they plan to take physical therapy to new levels. I’m definitely taking da plunge on dis one. Maybe even get a joint replaced in da cause o’ research.
A half hour later, a buxom Swedish blond wrapped in a big white towel with da same logo peeks outa da bathroom door. Time fer a hot shower ‘n’ Swedish massage! I recognize Hilda from last year’s Christmas party. Wish I had a peek at what goes on in dat big bathroom.
Later, over coffee, I learn she’s da CEO o’ this startup ‘n’ John himself set her up in business before he did the operation. I gotta admit, sometimes Jonelis knows what he’s doin’.
So go ahead—go out and have that operation. Then call Pavlovian PT. What’s stoppin’ you? Insurance pays for it all. Seems t’ me, with these kinda benefits, It’s gonna get real hard to keep ‘em out of the operating rooms.
And an old tune plays in da back o’ my head:
♪♪ How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm?
Now that they seen Broad—waaaaaaay! ♪♪
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