A Loco Viewpoint

This Mud Sucks

 

 
Last week found me sitting in bathwater that looked like the primordial soup that evolutionists claim my ancestors crawled out of a millennia ago. It wasn’t that I was particularly dirty prior to leaping into the tub that befouled my bath. The reason for my “spring runoff” hued bathwater was that, prior to my plunge, I had purposefully dumped about three cups of a clay-like material, closely resembling dirt, under the flowing faucet.
This wasn’t just any dirt, of course. This was very special dirt given to me by a friend who is well-versed in all matters related to “natural healing”.  Leah is her name and when she offered me the chance for a “detoxifying” mud bath, I was curious.  She explained how this amazing mud would somehow draw any poisons within my body out through the pores of my skin and, I guess, into the muddy bathwater. The “eeew” factor seemed enormous.
“Won’t the poisons be only drawn to areas that are submerged?” I asked suspiciously. “Won’t I end up with all the poisons in me being sucked down below my waist? Should I wrap my nether regions in some kind of waterproof containment system?”
I was picturing how problematic duct tape and a Glad bag might be in dealing with the last question.
“I really don’t think you have to worry,” explained Leah. “The poisons don’t get sucked out of you in one big slurp. To be safe, don’t submerge your head in it for too long… no more than ten minutes at a time.”
I admitted I had no more intention of placing my head in disgustingly dirty, poison-oozing bathwater as I did in snorkeling at the sewage lagoon.
Looking at the bag of dirt Leah had generously provided, I read the label carefully. I was glad to see it wasn’t just some potting soil she had stuck in a baggie but was actually in a retail package. It was called “Universal Contourwrap” under which was printed “Classic Pro”. I was glad I wasn’t getting some amateurish dirt.  Further down the bag I was relieved to see the words “Scientifically Proven” although, it did not indicate what, exactly, it was proven to do, anywhere on the bag. Other than that and the instructions for how much to use, in English and three other languages, the only other information on the label was the wise edict, “For external use only”. Thank heavens I read that bit and avoided a terrible mistake.
Tearing open the bag I examined this wonderful dirt. It looked like granulated clay mixed with sand, like what you’d get if you dried out some river mud. I hoped it didn’t come from the North Saskatchewan, just past Edmonton. As the bathwater cascaded upon the pile of dirt I sloshed the water about to soften it. Stepping into the bath gave me the feeling of lake bottom squishing between my toes. Considering that lake bottom gook is made up of rotted vegetation and fish poop, I was not thrilled but fought the impulse to immediately drain the tub and have a shower and afterwards, boil my feet.
I used my Vulcan mind powers to fight down the gag reflex and, after a few failed tries, sat down in the grimy soup. I was relieved that, although the water colour was similar, it didn’t smell like a swamp. I was going to add some of my “Axe For Real Men Luxurious Foaming Bath Crystals” but was afraid it might impede the poison sucking ability of the mud.
As I laid there in the murky tub, I considered this battle that is raging in the medical field between the holistic and scientific. The debate from the polarized healthcare camps is so vile, base and mean-spirited toward each other, you’d think it was NHL owners fighting the players’ association. From my experience, and research, when both sides of this medicinal coin claim the other side is full of money grubbing quacks and charlatans, I’m inclined to agree with both groups. 
If I have something seriously wrong, I have strong doubts holistic healing therapies such as “aromatherapy” will do me much good, (“Broke your leg? Smell this!”). I do believe, however, some of the ancient ideas of health care and folk medicines do have some merit to them. Pre-historic healers knew there was aspirin in willow bark before Bayer did, for example. Therefore, I am willing to keep an open mind to anything that will improve my health (besides dieting and eschewing beer, of course). It was that open-minded attitude, however, I deemed responsible for the revolting bath I was soaking in. As I stewed in the miracle mud, I cursed my open mind. The duct tape was pulling like crazy.
After the water became the temperature (and appearance) of iced coffee, I decided I was all therapied out.  Whatever toxins I had yet to jettison would have to be sucked out another day. My extremities had more wrinkles than “Clothing Optional Day” at the old folks home. I couldn’t recall wanting a shower this much since my last fight with a sewer snake.
The shower felt as wonderfully cleansing as I had hoped, although I had some concerns about all the poisons slipping down the drain and out into the environment. I was happy the river mud would return to the river bottom from whence it came, though.
Will I do it again? Probably, but it would be just to make Leah happy. She does, after all, have a lot of dirt on me.



 
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