Electronic chimes jingled as the front door to Get A Move On Physical Therapy wheezed open. A four-prong cane provided ballast for a man limping across the threshold.

 

Ms. Plumpermuffin clapped her hands and hopped off a pedestal shaped like a Doric column. “You must be here for the 2:30 tour. Please follow me.”

 

Ms. Plumpermuffin minced backwards with deliberate steps. “We’ll begin here in the magazine wing.” Her hands mimicked the gratuitous stylings of a The Price Is Right model to deflect attention to a stack of disheveled National Geographic magazines, some sporting covers, some not. All had adopted the loose-fit, fanned-out look popular among well-perused periodicals.

 

“Our collection of three-year-old National Geographics is considered one of the finest in the tri-city area. And our efforts to expand our People holdings has really come to fruition this year, thanks to a generous anonymous donor.” All the faces gracing the People covers brandished penned-on moustaches, van dykes, or crudely drawn naughty bits.

 

“And no visit to our museum would be complete without a stroll through the legendary Hall of Kitten Posters. As you can see, we have works from both the inspirational school, and the cutesy-poo school.”

 

A physical therapist’s pony-tailed head poked into the hallway. “Hi, Mr. Madden. Are you ready for your appointment? I’ve got the equipment all set up.”

 

******

 

As he rested between bouts of walking up and down a four-step staircase, Mr. Madden asked, “What’s the deal with the lady out front? I’ve never had a tour of a waiting room before.”

 

“She’s our curator. We wanted better organization and presentation in the lobby. Honestly, it seemed like a waste until she landed the Gauguin exhibit that opens next week.”

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