Barometric Pressure Headache Treatment

"Sir, does the massage require me to take off my pants?" When I'm celebrating the holidays in the village, I suffer from a stomachache after accidentally ingesting spoiled food. There isn't a proper clinic or hospital in the rural village, so I can only ask the local doctor to give me a massage. Unexpectedly, he suddenly tugs my pants off before the massage. He even tells me, "This is so that I can purge the evil energy out of your body." Meanwhile, I'm already soaked down there, so my evidence of arousal is quickly spotted by the doctor as soon as he removes my pants. His lust overtakes his senses at that moment, causing him to pin me down…

"This is a notice regarding proper use of the air conditioning. Please sign to acknowledge receipt." My six-year-old son stood there with a stern little frown, slapping a sheet of paper down in front of me. I glanced at the page. Written in colorful marker were several neatly listed "charges." The whole thing felt absurd. When I did not respond, he pointed at the paper like a tiny adult. "Mom, you didn't turn the air down in time yesterday. That could've affected my health. It was very irresponsible." I looked toward my husband, who had just gotten home from work, hoping he would say something, anything, in my defense. Instead, he snatched up the paper and slapped it down on the table, his voice sharp. "Can't you be more attentive? Our son's health comes first. If you can't even handle something this simple, what kind of mother are you?" With someone backing him up, our son's eyes immediately reddened. He burst into tears. "Mom doesn't love me!" The two of them, playing judge and jury, left me suddenly breathless. "Fine," I said at last. "If I'm such an unfit mother, I'll leave. Let your father find you a new one, someone who knows how to set the air conditioning properly."

Lately I've been in a bad mood, so my friend suggests that I see a traditional medicine practitioner. But I dare not do that, for I'm addicted to carnal pleasure. Rumors have it that a traditional medicine practitioner can easily tell what my addiction is. Unfortunately, my body keeps going through changes I can't explain, so I can only head toward a clinic on my own. As expected, the way the practitioner looks at me shifts instantly. "You've been longing to get screwed out of your brains, right?" He pins me on the desk before tugging off my damp panties…

My mom ran a clinic her whole life, charging just five dollars for cold medicine. After I took over the clinic, I followed her teachings closely, doing my best to care for the folks in our community. However, after I charged an influencer 30 dollars for medication, I got blasted online as a scam clinic that was out to rob people blind. The entire town showed up at my door, young and old alike, demanding I return the 'overcharged' fees. I gave them exactly what they wanted and refunded every penny before shutting down the clinic for good. "There you go, just like you wanted. The clinic's closed. From now on, if you've got health concerns, feel free to drive 30 miles to the county hospital for consultation. I wish you all good health." The very next day, they were back at my door again. Only this time, they were begging me to reopen.

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

The weather is -4 degrees Fahrenheit in Snow Park. The menstrual cramps are too much for me to handle, so I can only crouch beside the snow paths in order to rest. The new beautiful ski instructor, Sandy Hatfield, who Owen Schultz has hired, skid to a stop all of a sudden. The flurry of ice and snow gets splashed onto my face as a result. "Oh my, the snow quality here really is amazing! Unlike a certain someone, whose health is weaker than that of an average child…" Sandy takes off her snow goggles before flipping the bird at me tauntingly. "A dainty maiden like you should just go home and enjoy the heater. Don't take up precious space on the snow paths!" Unable to take it anymore, I grab my ski pole and try to strike Sandy with it. The next thing I know, Owen comes skidding in my direction on his snowboard and quickly shields Sandy from me. In doing so, he knocks me to the icy ground. He frowns at me, his voice colder than the icy winds. "Sandy is a professional athlete. What she did is a professional ski move. Can you stop being unreasonable?" As I slump on the ground, I find myself staring at a pink turtle cushion hanging from Sandy's hip. That was a cushion I’d sewn for Owen over three sleepless nights before this trip, with a safety charm hidden inside.. Back then, Owen thinks this charm is childish-looking and embarrassing, so he has tossed it into the boot without looking at it. Sandy follows my line of sight and feels the turtle cushion near her hip. Then, she brushes the snow off the charm with a scowl on her face. "Owen told me that this is a piece of garbage that's taking up space at home. So, it serves as my cushion now. I don't think even old ladies are prone to making such lame crafts nowadays, right Brooke?"