Physical Therapy... and art.

This morning I went to physical therapy for the first time, and I was so pumped.  I even ate oatmeal for breakfast and wore a stretchy headband. I was like, "Bring it on physical therapy!"

I got there, and I was pretty much the only person under 70 years old (except for my mom, who has to drive me everywhere because it's my right knee that is messed up... swag.) Hopefully I can make some awesome friends there, because I'll be going three times a week, and a lot of the people seemed legit. This one lady even pushed the handicap open button on the door with her cane. I was impressed.

My physical therapist came in to meet me and introduced himself as Art, which is a pretty cool name. Then he excused himself to help another patient for a few moments.

I was just sitting there with my mom, looking around, when I spotted a Monet print on the wall. 

"Ooooh! A Monet!" I said.

Then I said loudly, "I think it's an Impressionist painting....  I REALLY WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT ART."

".... uhh... Not that Art......."

I just hope Art didn't hear. Awkward.

But not as awkward as it was when I was straining to do the very simple exercises that Art gave me. I'm soooo weak. Embarrassing. I really want to wear a pink leotard to my next appointment, like the US Gymnastics team. I think it will help. 

my life heroes. duh.