About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
It's fanny-ily over
When I brought Chuck to the hospital today, the nurses fussed and tittered around him. All five of them. They dressed him in a hospital gown that had two holes in it. A hose attached to the holes and blew warm, calming air all over his body. The nurses handed him the TV remote and asked if he would like a fresh pair of socks or his pillow fluffed.
He said yes.
Then they started the painkiller drip.
He lay back in bed and smiled.
That's when I raised my hand and said, "Excuse me, I'd like to check my butt in, too."