My chiropractor is out of town the latter part of this week, visiting Italy.

“Work or holiday?” I politely enquire.

“One day of work, three days of holiday,” he explains. (The man has his priorities straight.)

Further conversation reveals he’ll be working for the national Italian soccer team, evaluating the fitness of the players being considered for contracts worth millions of euros. My chiropractor is a bit like a mechanic who examines the used car you’re considering buying, looking to be sure the nice smooth exterior isn’t concealing some problem that might leave you stranded down the road.

He works with high-performance athletes on a regular basis. He even was part of Lance Armstrong’s Tour de France team and will be at the World Cup.

I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to work with highly trained athletes on one hand and softening middle-age American chicks on the other. It would be a bit like owning two cars—one a late model Ferrari, the other a used station wagon.

When I left his office today, thinking of sleek tan muscular professional soccer players, I felt slow-moving and squishy. My body is not a high-performance machine; I'm a high-mileage, high-maintenance vehicle. I'm a clunker!

Walking down the street, I smiled suddenly when I coined a new name for myself: Sponge Butt Square Pants.

The mental image of my square ass in my square pants paired with my square-toed loafers and my square glasses made me realize I am square in every sense of the word. If I were a vehicle, I'd be an old reliable pickup truck, boxy, beaten up, but still on the road.

May 24, 2006