My father saved all of my report cards and most of them had comments about my being a sweet litle girl, but one that had a tendency to daydream. A lot. The word focus didn’t come up too much in the 70′s. Daydreaming did.
“She’s a bit of a daydreamer.”
“Her mind tends to wander.”
Kiss my ass- the stories in my head were way better than the crap you were trying to teach me.
Tangent. So back to my daydreaming.
I petitioned and advocated and begged for an electric tea kettle at work for quite a long time because I refused to drink microwaved water or worse- water that was tepidly heated in our office water cooler. Yeah- I know- water cooler and it dripped hot water too. The only way to make a proper pot of tea is to BOIL water over a legitimate flame or at least a hot as Hades electric coil.
Our office manager procured such a convenience for us afternoon tea drinkers and I was very happy to have tea brewed to perfection.
Back to the daydreaming part.
As I was waiting for my water to boil my mind wandered to such thoughts as steak, gray nail polish, the laundry I forgot to throw in the dryer, and a new pillow. While I should have been paying careful attention to the top of the kettle as I poured boiling water I was not and failed to notice that the lid popped open and the boiling water spilled all over the counter and my tee shirt and skirt.
Surprise! Boiling water is hot!!
I did have a witness who was rather shocked at my nonchalance at having a second work accident occur within a month.
“I’m fine. No worries!”
I mopped up the water and assessed the damage. My tummy had a burn, but a cold compress and a little aloe did the trick.
Until the real burn appeared.
Now my boss Holly is reading this and she’s getting pissed because I didn’t tell her, but I had already been a dumbass at work when the bathroom room door closed on my finger. I just didn’t have it in me to be a dumbass again so soon. And she threw my lunch away that week in a feverish frenzy of refrigerator food expulsion even though my lunch was only a day old. She retrieved it and I ate part of it until someone else in the office wanted to know if I wanted the cake that was sitting in the trash and then I felt like a Costanza-like loser by eating garbage so Holly can’t get mad at me about the burn because she threw my perfectly good lunch away. I think we’re even. Thank you very much.
“It was hard as a rock!”
“So you opened it up and felt it and then determined it to be inedible?”
I was admiring my burn and commented to a friend that it looked like Jupiter.
“You have a burn on your stomach shaped like Jupiter?”
“No it’s not shaped like Jupiter. I mean planets are round so if my burn was round it could be shaped like any old planet. Mercury doesn’t have as much cachet as Jupiter. It LOOKS like Jupiter.” I was exasperated that my burn wasn’t getting the attention it deserved- at least from my friends and not my boss. I didn’t want her attention. She would have no problem calling me a dumbass.
It looks like Jupiter because it was oddly discolored with multiple red and purple striations and a dark spot sort of off to the side. And it didn’t hurt because because I have no feeling in that little area of my abdomen because of the Kid having to be extricated from my womb with a giant serrated scalpel the size of an asphalt shovel. Well, not really, but those who have had a c-section totally get the analogy.
So back to the Kid. Or Mr. Pneumonia like I have been calling him for the last week. The Center of the Universe doesn’t get to whine about a numb tummy burn when the Kid’s lungs decide to skip that breathing part. Shit- I have a unique burn that is akin to seeing the Holy Mother in the foam of a macchiato, but my Kid has to get something that drives all the attention to him. Sometimes motherhood is just not fair.
The children’s hospital in Nashville is like a four star hotel, but with IVs. And screaming babies. And lots of pudding. We had the penthouse with a great view, but the cable kind of sucked.
Seriously- I think you will probably charge me a grand for that tylenol- you couldn’t pony up for a decent flat screen and a few more channels? Our healthcare system is fucked.
I am lucky I have a Kid who is a complete trooper and weathered a weekend in the hospital just fine despite the deluge of antibiotics, steroids, and a little hairy respiratory therapist who missed the casting call for a Hobbit stand in. We watched a lot of Mythbusters and Pitbulls and Parolees (which I found quite heart-warming). On Saturday night we were about to kick back and watch the WVU football game when the FH called and said he would be over to sit with the Kid and watch the game.
“Do you need anything?”
Loaded question, but I behaved.
“Yes, a large black tea and some ginger ale (because I was suffering from the “stress enema” as my dear friend Brigid calls it). Oh and do you have any large gauze squares and maybe a couple bandaids?”
“You’re in a hospital.”
“You’re shitting me, really? I am not bothering them for gauze. I have already been pilfering chocolate milk from their “treats frig”. Just bring me some gauze.”
“Why do you need gauze?”
“Because I have a burn that looks like Jupiter on my stomach and my shorts are rubbing on it and Jesus Christ just bring me some gauze!”
“You have a burn shaped like Jupiter?”
“Good lord ALL planets are round. Why would I say I have a burn shaped like Jupiter when I could say it’s shaped like Pluto?”
“Well if it’s like Pluto then it must not be that much of a burn.”
“Please bring me some fucking tea and some gauze or I swear I will give you a hundred reasons why you’re glad you’re not married to me anymore!”
About an hour later…
“Just look at us- one big happy family watching your college play football.” The Kid was gleeful because he had just ordered hospital food like it was room service at the Ritz. “We should do this more often.”
And in unison not often heard by the FH and me…
The Kid is fine- still coughing up stuff better left undescribed. Jupiter is looking more like something from a galaxy far far away…