Suma Cum Something

The following conversation took place this evening, at approximately 6:30 P.M. between Dr.Drake and his wife.

Wife: Hi darling how was your day?
Dr.D: It WAS good, until around 10.
Wife: Why? What happened?
Dr.D: I'd rather not talk about it.
Wife: Okay,deary,sit down and eat your meatloaf.
Dr.D: I think I will stand and eat tonight.
Wife: Don't be ridiculous, sweetie! Sit.
Dr.D: I CAN'T sit, OK?????
Wife: Well, why ever not, pumpkin?
Dr.D: Because I met a woman named Cici today, and she ripped me a new asshole!
Wife: Oh my!

About two weeks ago, Lauren told me she was seeing TWO of everything. Thinking it was odd, I paid closer attention to her behaviors. I noticed her shaking her head a bit, like she was trying to shoo a bug away. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was trying to see only ONE of things.

It would help if you knew that I am EXTREMELY picky about which Doctors I will use. Doing an externship at a medical malpractice law firm skews ones view quite quickly.

I have a list of providers whom I would not let touch my goldfish.

I also have a list of the TOP in the field, for almost EVERY specialty. Call it my type-A personality, but if I ever get penile cancer, I know exactly where to go!

So, a quick glance at my list tells me that Dr. Drake is THE pediatric eye man in this region. He is board certified in pediatrics, opthamology, constructive surgery, and has acted as an expert in several high profile litigation proceedings. What his CV did NOT state was that he is a Fellow of the American Academy Of Assholes.

Of course, being that he is THE man, a call to his office prompted them to offer me an appointment, in December. I threw around a few big medical words to throw the receptionist for a loop and name dropped a bit. SHAZAM! An appointment was booked for today at 10.

We were seen by the nurse, who did the standard read the chart test, and put drops in Lauren's eyes, then sent us out to wait for dilation to occur.

Once we were called back, Dr. Drake came in. A small man he is not. And, I could smell his breath before he even OPENED his mouth. You know that type. The breath is so bad that it oozes out of the pores.

So he did his little exam, stated his diagnosis and said, "She needs glasses, but not for her vision."

Um... Ok.

It was then that I offended the man beyond repair. I called into question his years at Harvard medical school.

"So, what does THAT mean?" I dared ask.

"It means I have been doing this for twenty-THREE years and I KNOW what I am talking about!" He snorted.

"Well, no one is questioning your credentials, but you are talking about MY child!" I told him.

"It's all very confusing! You wouldn't understand!' He bellowed.

GAME. ON. BITCH.

"I have a MASTER'S DEGREE FROM M.I.T., TRY ME." I snotted. I figured, if I am going to LIE about my degree, I may as well lie about my Alma Mater, too.

He bowed down, and took a blank piece of paper out.

Yeah, I thought so. Who's my bitch?

He began drawing optic nerves and refraction prisms. Then he festooned the page with fancy words like accommadation, myosis and hyperopia. He drew a bunch of arrows and triangles, and explained in grave detail the way that ocular reflexes work.

I looked on like a Harvard grad student and took in every word.

When he was done, I felt like I had just watched a foreign French film with no subtitles. I had NO clue what the man just said or what happened.

I did not retain or process a damn word.

"Thank you, that makes perfect sense now." I said.

He set up an appointment for next week, as we have to measure Lauren for glasses.

Why?

I'm not quite sure. I think her flange is discombobulated and she needs a flux capacitor for her thingamajigy.

I was half-way out the door when the nurse stopped me.

"Mrs. MIT?, Good for you! No one has ever stood up to him like that." She whispered.

I already printed out a copy of the 'It's ALL ABOUT CICI' Memo.

I'll give it to him next week.

Concrete Shoes

Well, it's almost over.

I had a good run. Six years of eating bon-bons and watching Oprah is drawing to a close. I am about ready to re-join the rat race.

I have been busier than a one handed hooker in a jack off contest, trying to get all of my affairs in order.

I hired a new cleaning lady, who will come weekly, and I *think* I like her. She doesn't speak any English, so she may be yelling obscenties at me, but she does it with a smile, so we are good.

Joey is back to work and washing himself daily. The kids are going mach 3 around the house and ready for summer to end.

I have started crying myself to sleep at night. I am really going to miss Anthony.

Lauren, not so much. I LOVE that girl, but she is so independent and headstrong, that she is READY to take on the world. She has also been in pre-school for two years now, so I am used to her absence.

Anthony is a different story. His umbilical cord was not cut before we left the hospital and it is intact to this day. The child thinks the moon and sun rise on me (which they do, coincidentally) and he is going to be mortified when I leave him.

He keeps saying "Cool" which is school, so in theory, he wants to go. I just don't think he grasps that I am going to abandon him for eight hours. Poor baby..


What else? I woke up at like 3 this morning, and had to pee. While I was sitting there, I saw a mini tootsie roll on the bathmat, so I leaned over and picked it up.

I screamed silently as I realized that A)We do not eat tootsie rolls and 2)Even if we DID, tootsie rolls are NOT slimy and alive.

It was a SLUG! A wet, slimy, slug. With antenna! I tried to throw it, but it was stuck to my hand like a leech, so there I was, screaming under my breath, since the bathroom I chose was RIGHT outside of the baby's room, with a slug stuck to my hand and my panties around my ankles.

I finally flung him hard enough that he flew out of my hand, and stuck to the wall like one of those quarter machine hands. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, scooped him up and flushed him down.

I then washed my hands for 2.5 hours.

Of course, I had nightmares for the remainder of my sleep.

This morning after breakfast, Lauren screamed, so I went running. She was standing, looking into the toilet bowl "There's a WORM IN THE POTTY!!

Holy crap. He was BACK. Dead, but floating. I guess his corpse filled with water and he floated to the top. I flushed him again, but he wouldn't go down.

I finally grabbed a slotted spoon, fished a dead, bloated slug out of the toilet, walked it through the house, and flung it out the back door.

I guess it's a good thing I am not going back to work as a hitman, huh?

Never Have I Ever.....

Thought I would hear a man tell me to "Mush it around in the diaper to look for the penny."

Nope. Never expected to hear those words.

Also never thought I would actually do it.

But, when your son decides to act like a slot machine and eat a penny, mushing through poop is just what you have to do.

I usually put my money in a slot and never see it again. My two year old human slot machine gave me a 100% return! And a few undigested peas to boot!

Maybe my luck is changing? A trip to Las Vegas may be needed.