Heal me, oh leaf

I am wrapped in cabbage leaves now for my back, and ready for my flight. The bad news: I don’t smell so good, the good news: who is going to sit next to somebody wrapped in cabbage? For anybody who never stuffed cabbage leaves in their bra to take down the swelling of boobs feeling like a box of frozen spinach and enlisted to feed a baby, cabbage is a natural healer. And I’m counting on it. There are times to doubt and then there are desperate times. I leave this evening for Italy. I am meditating on wild flowers and red wine and I believe in cabbage.
If I could, I would make everybody bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches before we got on the plane, but we have none of that, and I have to be careful not to move the cabbage around too much.
New shoes are answer #2. Before I leave I am setting out a selection of cold cereal and then going uptown to secure a set of silver, sparkly, Birkenstock sandles. How can a back stay cramped with a brand new pair of sexy, styling orthopedics? That and a pack of trailmix is going to see me through. When I get off the plane, I am going to be walking straight, my hair is going to be curly, my skin will have laughed it’s way back to youth, peanut by raisin, and cabbage bandages will be falling to the ground around me like crutches left by the born again.

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