How Men Objectify Themselves

Right before she stabbed me in the back with another needle, Jane asked, “Weren’t you writing a book?”

“Yes,” I said, between gasps of pain on the exam table, “Good memory.”

Jane, my physical therapist, was literally poking and prodding (via dry needling) my seized up back muscles, trying to coax them to relax.

“The book comes out next week. Which is why I’m here. Somehow in writing a book I managed to ruin my back.”

It was true. No big dramatic trampoline flip or epic mountain bike jump preceded it...