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.”