If I were a rich woman, I'd own every contoured pillow, chair, and pad I could get my grubby little hands on.

While enjoying the benefits of my knee support, I don't so much enjoy the not so beneficial parts...like the rashes and irritation that occur when subject A sweats profusely while wearing subject B. I've worn them a week and my knees have never felt better (at least not in the last ten years) and my skin has never spoken epithets in quite so harsh a tone.

[sigh]

It seems I am always searching for a happy medium. A medium I can find...but HAPPY? C'mon! I've battled this incongruity for the past couple of days. I love my skin. I love my knees. Do I love my skin more than I love my knees? Or is it the other way around? If the house caught fire, which would I grab first?—my skin or my knees?

If my knees had a problem with my drinking coffee, would I try to stop? If my skin took issue with my gum-chewing habit, would I care for it enough to quit? If both were true, would I honor one before the other?

Who gets the bigger Christmas present?

Who gets nagged for eating with their elbows on the table while the other body dives toward the mashed potatoes?

These are all very frightening scenarios! I don't know the answers! I'd like to think that I treat both my skin and my knees with the same level of care and affection, but worry that there are inequities...and as a body-part-care-provider, this worry is never silenced (except when I am drinking coffee or chewing gum).

In recent weeks, I've come to learn that I inherited Aunt Brenda's body. Sort of. See, I inherited all of the malfunctioning parts with one of the pizazz. Seems pretty lousy, but I figure it doesn't matter if I have to hobble around hunched over and withered at 30—because I've got the spunk (and make-believe friends) that Quasimodo never had. Plus, I am more of a page-turner than a bell-ringer.

You should know that Brenda is a fix-it lady. If something is unsolved, she finds a solution. She receives a catalogue from Foot Smart and ohmigoodness the therapy one can find there! And how much do I love this!? Or this bit of non skin abrasive joy? And "KneedIT"...punny stuff! And check it out, this is my seat cushion!—but they've upped the ante and made it into a CHAIR! My, my, my...is that lumbar support I see?

In the midst of my orthopedic nirvana, my skin is jumping up and down excitedly...waving its arms, chattering mindlessly, aggravatingly, in effort to secure my attention. An argument ensues between the two parties. I bite my tongue to keep from shouting, "Cut it out you two!—before I turn this body around!"

According to Miles, craziness runs in my family. Maybe I ought to be locked in a bell tower after all.