Never piss off a physiotherapist.

So, as well as a bucket load of painkillers for my poorly back, the Dr also prescribed sessions with the physio.
Being me, I asked around for recommendations, ignored them all and went to the cabinet de kinésithérapie on the ground floor of my block of flats. The Kiné I got appointed is a tiny little thing, all of 5 foot nothing in her Birkenstocks. The first session, she asked what I had done and then got me to lie on the bed and gave me a massage. it was the first time ever I have been on a massage bed that then got lowered rather than raised to the physio's hight. The next couple of times I got the same massage treatment and comments on how my back muscles were loosening up nicely.
Then I must have pissed her off somehow. Maybe it was because I was a little late - in my defense it is hard to judge the volume of traffic on the staircase, because when I turned up, she didn't let me go into her room, oh no, she pointed me in the direction of the gym room. Before I knew it, I was lying on my back and being made to do weird and impossible things with a huge gym ball. This was not helped by the fact I was wearing jeans.
While this half hour of progressively more difficult exercises progressed, I couldn't help but notice 3 people sitting in a jacuzzi in the adjoining room. Part of me wanted to burst in there and demand what sort of injury needed rehab that involved sitting in a hot tub for half an hour, but I was to frightened of upsetting my Kiné any further in case she decided to make me suffer even more.
So I meekly made another appointment for another session and any hopes of it involving a nice back rub were dashed when I was walking out the door and she called after me to wear some sports clothes next time.