Me: And, how are you feeling today, doc?
Doc: Oh, you’ll understand when you get to be my age.
And then he laughs uproariously, as if I’ll ever get to his age.
Nurse: So, when did you get your transplant?
Me: Twelves years ago.
Nurse: Wow! Twelve years? And you’re still doing okay??
Nurse: So, I guess you go to all those rendez-vous with all the other folks with transplants?
Me: Um, no. Never met any, to tell the truth.
Nurse: Oh, it’s great fun, from what I hear. They meet and discuss their experiences, how they’re doing, etc.
Me, thinking: Eek, sounds like a Yulblog meeting. (kidding!)
Gnarles Barkley’s “Crazy,” set to the theremin.
Came home on Friday, to find a magazine in the mailbox. I don’t recall subscribing to anything lately, so I figured it was a gift for being a volunteer tester for Cooks Illustrated. Catch the name of the addressee, and am surprised that folks now address us as “Thibodeau-Paquette.”
I take an even closer look at the address label. (click for larger view)
Aw, hells naw. Please, someone tell me that I now have to keep an eye out for the dog sending away for stuff. Pretty soon, she’ll have racked up a huge credit card bill for squeaky toys and chewy bones. Because, you just know that CC companies are waiting for her business.
I bring you the love that dare not speak its name.