Damn! My chicken and ground beef never made it into my cart. The nice boy at the store who bagged my groceries didn’t put it in. I didn’t notice until I got home. Ugh. Now I have to go back. Unfortunately, the store I shopped at is down the street from the kid’s dance studio which is over 20 minutes away from my home. I guess it doesn’t have to be a major problem. The next time she has dance, I figured I would stop by and pick it up, which was Tuesday — the night before I wanted to make the meal with the beef. Perfect.
On the way to dance Tuesday night, I drove right by that ever-lovin’ store, not once but twice. It never occurred to me to stop in to collect my meats. What a shocker.
Wednesday morning, as I was getting prepared to get my crockpot meal together, I opened the freezer to extract my pound of ground beef. I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t laying right on top. It should be since I only went grocery shopping 3 days ago. So, I proceed to search deeper. It took me about 30 seconds before I remembered where it was. Crap! Poop! SHIT!!!! I really didn’t have time for this. It was going to be a crazy afternoon.
I stood up from the freezer with a dazed look on my face. I felt like I was hit with a stun gun. Wait. What happened? I thought I was going to be passing that store on Tuesday. Then I remembered that I DID pass that store on Tuesday because Tuesday was yesterday. Awesome. I’m an ass.
I know I already have one foot in the looney bin. But can’t I blame this whole thing on the store bagger guy? Yes, I think I will. I don’t think I’ll add this to the list of reasons why I should be committed. Oh and I hope my family doesn’t mind Chinese again.
Paper towels, paper towels, paper towels. I say it over and over again in my head so I don’t forget why I’m going into the pantry. By the time I reach the pantry, I’ve stopped saying it because I suddenly remember that I really enjoyed last week’s Grey’s Anatomy episode. Boy, that Cristina and Owen are so sexy together. I’m really digging their “non-married” relationship. It’s HOT. Mmmm.
Wait. What was I doing??? Oh yeah, I was getting….oh damn. Now I have to backtrack, go to the exact spot I was standing in, and pray that it comes back to me. Let’s see….I was washing the dishes that my dishwashing allergic family left in the sink. I was going to dry them. Oh, right….
Paper towels, paper towels, paper towels. Gee, I’m really looking forward to getting my hair cut tomorrow. I can’t do a damn thing with it. What time is my appointment again?
When the kid was about 2, my monthly visitor Flo, started getting a bit too heavy for my taste. I could get graphic, but I will spare you the bloody details.
It only took about 10 years for my OB to realize that my fibroid was the “first I’ve ever seen in my 30 year career.” It had faster growth than Arnold Schwarzenegger on steroids.
These were my choices: medication that would catapult me into early menopause (having bamboo shoots rammed under my nail beds seemed more appealing) or a hysterectomy. The good doctor thought I should think it through, talk to the hubby. Yeah right. My hubby isn’t the one with the tumor the size of Mount Vesuvius, which by the way, oozed less than I did. I immediately replied with a “let’s rip ‘er out.” No thought necessary.
I think I was most surprised by everyone’s reaction. I thought for sure they’d all be as happy as I was. I felt like I did when I first learned of my pregnancy. I couldn’t wait to share the news. DH thought I should get a second opinion and some thought I would be hurled into a depression.
Well, the second opinion? Thanks, honey, but if you’ve removed one uterus, you’ve removed them all. This isn’t brain surgery. And depression? I had one person send me a link to a Dr. Oz show on just this thing. Give me a break. I was more depressed when they stopped airing “Thirty Something.”
So, I had a Bon Voyage party for my period and on April 7, 2010 my tumor and lady parts were removed and deposited into the nearest dump. I kid you not — I was the happiest I have been EVER! As far as all the incidentals I still had: I wrapped them up in a pretty bow and gave them to my daughter as a gift. She didn’t appreciate it. Ingrate.