Tuesday, November 08, 2011

You Know What Mother Always Says…

I have become quite a barterer.  Keep in mind my 2 will-work-for-vodka transactions.  I have now negotiated for story rights – because, Felix owes me.  Felix owes me BIG TIME.  And my payment for being a dedicated, loyal, and giving friend is USUALLY vodka.  However, in this instance, my payment is permission to blog about her severe misfortune for my own sick, twisted entertainment. 

So.  Felix got another dog-bite from the killer-ear-eating dog last week – this time on her arm.  And it got infected.  It got so infected that Duckit, Hyphen, and I made her go have Nurse Ratchet take a look at it.  Nurse Ratchet deemed it to be severe enough to warrant a higher level of medical attention than the four of us standing around gawking and telling her it was gross and that she could be a zombie for Halloween.  I think the fact that I kept referring to her as “Double-Tap”  (a la “Zombieland”) did little to help deter the perception that we had some sort of gangrenous entity in our midst. 

So.  After school that day, Felix decided to go to the minor emergency clinic and see if she needed antibiotics or a lancing or better still – my personal favorite – an amputation.  By the time we all got there to check on her, I was h3ll-bent on getting to see an amputation, and I had pretty much convinced Felix to tell the nurses to write in her DNR/ directives and orders to come and get me and let me see it if they DID decide to do it.  The four of us managed to have WAY too much mirth and merriment in an exam room where people were SUPPOSED to be sick and injured and concerned and sh1t.   At this point, it had been determined that the Double-Tap status was severe enough to require HOSPITALIZATION.  So, when the doctor came in again, he asked Felix if there was anything that she needed to tell him before they made the hospital arrangements.  She snapped up with “If you have amputate, the one in pink gets to go in the operating room and watch.”  The doctor told her that would never happen because they would make me check my Black and Decker at the door. 

Private jokes that we were attempting to keep somewhat private began to fly across the exam room via text message at a disturbing rate.  At some point or other, Duckit interjected a text to Hyphen and me with the question “Is Felix wearing panties?”  Now, this may seem to be a completely heartless, inappropriate and random- @ss question to be texting to someone in an exam room with a friend in need, but Felix had shared with us recently that she had given up the wearing of knickers altogether.

The old adage / admonition that if you go to the hospital, then you should be wearing clean underwear does not become moot simply because you choose NOT TO WEAR underwear on that given day.

More simply put, if your dog-bite from a killer ear-eating dog gets infected enough to warrant medical attention, it is not a day that you should decide that unmentionables are optional. 

As soon as the doctors and nurses cleared the room again, we started devising the least horrible plan we could muster to acquire undies for Felix short of holding some sort of effed-up telethon in the waiting room.  The best plan we could think of involved MyPoolBoy bringing a pair of my most normal underwear from our house (since we live the closest to the emergency clinic).  As I dialed his number, I kept thinking of Rainman saying “I’m not wearing my underwear.”  Holding it together as best I could with Dustin Hoffman’s voice in my head, I tried to whisper to him the very specific directions of where to locate and procure a known-to-be-clean AND non-lacy pair of panties and then punctuated the conversation with the explanation that they were going to transfer Felix to the hospital.  He responded with “I don’t want to know” and then said he’d meet us with the panties in a few minutes. 

I called him back a few minutes later to tell him to just text me when he got to the waiting room and I’d come out and get them from him.  He asked if we were in the regular waiting room or the ER waiting room, and I told him “NO NO NO we are still at the emergency clinic.” 

His response was quite arguably the funniest dayum thing that I’ve heard someone try to say with a serious tone in a very long time:

“Hell, I’m already driving these panties to the hospital.” 

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