A couple of weeks ago just as I was leaving for work, I saw this lady come out of the neighbouring building. About mom-sized and, as is the norm around here, wrapped in a million scarves. Big deal, I think, and carry on my way happy with the thought I’d thunk that I’d be long gone before she even extracted her keys from her hideous purse. Instead, I eventually found myself behind her on the road, trying desperately not to gun the throttle and smash into her tail light out of frustration. Not only was she going my way, all the way, she somehow constantly managed to stay ahead of me, slowing down only at every turn, where she seemed too timid to maintain her momentum.So I had to take her out before she caused me further embarrassment and potentially endangered the life of the mother of her children. A few nicks and bruises never hurt anyone.
I have a phobia of bodily penetrations. Before that statement is misconstrued to be what it isn’t, I should add that I mean bodily penetrations by inorganic objects. Hmm… Ok pointy metallic objects, more precisely. Dammit that still sounds dirty. Ok, I will narrow it down to knives. When blade meets flesh, that’s when my balls literally jump up into my body and wait there till it’s safe to descend again.
For many years, I tried to figure out if there really was something to this ‘stomach churning’ business, as others have put it, but I’ve only recently understood that the most profound effect an external stimulus can have is on my testicles.
And all this medical jargon is reminding me of another thing I hate. Doctors. And the thing I hate more than doctors – doctors who don’t agree that you’re as sick as you feel. I mean it’s a helluva medical anticlimax when you go to the doctor and then undergo a bunch of tests expecting to find conclusive evidence that your spine is horribly mis-shapen, which is the cause of your incredible pain, and after all that he tells you to go home and take an aspirin. Hell, if I’m paying you 400 bucks for consultation plus 1,500 for the tests, at least humour me and say I MIGHT have a horribly mis-shapen spine, which is the cause of my incredible pain!
Or at least have a hot nurse draw my blood. The rest I can deal with.
For the accompanying image: I swear I don’t remember where I got the original. If you read this and happen to be the artist, creds to you. At least I’m not using it for commercial purposes and so you can’t sue me, right? Right?
“This isn’t goodbye, it’s great-bye!”
Robert Palmer – Simply Irresistible
Imogen Heap – Hide and Seek
RIP, Michael. I still love ya.
