Now, Relax

I've been going to an acupuncture guy for the last few months and he came highly recommended by my mother and the NY Times. Apparently, he's the best and people travel the world over to lie down in his little office on Canal Street.

Now, the whole experience of getting to Chinatown and braving the crazy traffic to make it down to the city twice a week was nerve-wracking. I've had more fun cleaning up dog pee in my kitchen. You have to do THAT twice a day when you've got an incontinent Labrador Retriever on your hands.

So we get down to Chinatown and park the car to rush to the office before it closes. Once we get there, huffing and puffing, he sets me us up in a room--most of the time Peter and I get to be in the same room, which is nice. He has us lie down and then pokes us all over with teeny needles, turns off the lights and says, "Now, relax."

As soon as he leaves the room, Peter and I always giggle, because all we can hear after the word "relax" is a thousand car horns beeping at each other right outside and two fire trucks cranking away, wailing down the street.