Slap & Tickle

“Never have a hysterectomy!”

The above quote is an actual quote given to me by a female friend. I can safely say that I will follow her advice and NEVER have a hysterectomy. Being a male, it’s impossible (however, I have been known to suffer from PMS, so I should be cautious and never say never… but, I’m feeling a bit smarmy today, so I’ll stand firm on my new policy of never having a hysterectomy). I’m hoping it will catch on with all my friends and we’ll be a big group of non-hysterectomites.

So, Dr. Cutie McCutie* called with all my other test results and everything is excellent. No HIV, no STD’s: nutt’n. Apparently, even my urine “looked good.” Oh, doctor… how you tease!

The pills have taken Pauly the Parasite to task and I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Poor Pauly, I hardly knew ye… but you helped me lose ten pounds, so I can’t fault you too much. Well, you did keep me stuck in a bathroom for about 10 hours a day for three weeks, so you did put a cramp in my social life.**

I received a number of comments, personally and in my blog, stating that no one wants to hear any more scatological references or how my bowels are moving/not moving/reacting or in any way “communicating” to the outside world. I’ve heard you loud and clear: no more shit comments.

However, did you see Oprah yesterday? Apparently, she farts 14 times a day. I’d discuss it more, but the public has spoken…***

----------------------------------------------

I got a jury summons for October in the mail. October? Now? Don’t they know I will spend the next month devising the best way to get out of my civic duty? It’s a “jury of my peers.” I can tell you this, my peers would not be on trial for something. They would have their parents use their significant influence to get them out of a jury trial—or daddy would do something to make it all go away. If I’m on a jury trial, it had better be for reading too many blogs at work or sleeping too late on the weekends, because otherwise, we are not peers.

Of course, if it’s for something that I want to do, then by all means sign me up! Knock down the slow lady in front of you at Starbucks that can’t figure out how to order a goddamn mocha? Not guilty! Run someone off the freeway for changing lanes without signaling because there are on their cell phone? Not guilty—and the US Medal of Freedom ****.

----------------------------------------------

I went to Macy’s today to buy a baby gift for a friend and wandered over to Macy’s Gift Wrap. What a lovely area that is. You know how bad it looks during Christmas/Hanukah (Hanukkah? Chanukah? Whichever). Well, it looks just the same now… only with less people to distract you from the prison-like atmosphere.

I rang the bell and this woman walks out who clearly wanted to be somewhere (anywhere) else.

“Uh-huh?” She says to no one in particular, because she’s not staring at me, but at the counter.

“Yes, I’d like to get this gift wrapped,” I smile, pulling out the cutest baby outfit you’ve ever seen.

“Eight twenny-nine.” Seriously: twenny. Apparently, she escaped the back woods of Louisiana and Katrina’s wake and headed straight to Macy’s Gift Wrap at the Stanford Shopping Center.

She looked at the outfit. No reaction. Nothing. Not a “cute.” No “awwwww!” Heck, not even an “ewww.” Nothing. I hated her.

As I wondered to myself, why the fine people of Macy’s would keep her disgruntled ass around, a woman walks up. Happy looks up and says, “What do you want?”

Oooh, girlfriend, there is gonna be a catfight, because the woman that walked up clearly had fifty (or would that be fiddy?) pounds on her and both looked like they’ve been in fights before—and lost as many as they’d won, based on the total teeth count between the two would not be enough for one.

“I’m returning these…” Girlfriend said as she hoisted up a large box containing 500 small boxes (I know this because on the side of the box it clearly read, Contents: 500 small boxes).

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Can’t she read the box? Duh.

“What do I want those for?” (Actually, it sounded like “whadoohI wan dose foh?” Seriously. Henry Higgins would shit in his pants if he were there…*****)

Girlfriend started to walk away, she returned them and she wasn’t taking them back, that much even I knew. “This is where I got ‘em… this is where I take ‘em back to.”

And she was gone.

“Angie!” Happy cries out, staring at the box. “Angie!” I’m thinking she’s talking to the box, so I lean over the counter to get a better look (hey, if the box is gonna talk, I want to see it happen).

“What?” Angie said. For a nano-second, I thought it was the box. Angie appeared from out of the back.

“Look what Lanquisha brung back.” Happy said, measuring the ribbon.

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Seriously, am I the only one that can read the box?

Thankfully, Angie asked the one question I wanted answered: “Why?”

Happy shrugged as she finished tying up the ribbon, “I dunno. She nicked ‘em, so now she brung ‘em back.”

Angie was prepping to wrap a gift, so she started speaking to the wall, “What’re we s’posed to do with them?”

The wall didn’t answer, but Happy did: “dunno.”

My gift was done. Let me say, that Happy did the most incredible job. It wasn’t complex, but she took amazing care putting it all together and it looked wonderful.

With tax and a little note card it was an even Ten. Now that made Happy smile! No pesky change to figure out! Hurrah! She gave me a big “Thank you and have a nice day!” (well, she smiled a bit and said, “thanks,” but close enough in my book). As I walked away with my beautiful package, my ten spot, sans pesky change jingling in my pocket, I thought to myself, I like her!


*Not his real name… but you knew that already, didn’t you? Of course you did…
**In actuality, I have no social life to speak of, but if I did, Pauly put a cramp in it.
***You are SO wishing I’d say more now, aren’t you?
**** If you have not already guessed, I believe in the death penalty for anyone using a cell phone while driving
*****Thankfully, he wasn’t. (Sorry about the “shit in his pants” remark. I said I wouldn’t mention that anymore… Obviously, I lied).