Tag: humor

It’s Raining Benadryl!

Last night I had a dilemma. I could take the anti-inflammatory drug prescribed by my doctor to fight the pain in my lower back, or I could take a sinus/allergy pill in order to breathe. 

Since the anti-inflammatory cautioned against taking anything with acetaminophen or ibuprofen I was forced to choose. Did I want to lie awake all night due to an excruciatingly painful back or due to a headache from the depths of hell? Decisions, decisions. 

Then I remembered that Studly Doright had just bought an economy sized bottle of the antihistamine Benadryl. While it wouldn’t necessarily help with my congestion, it might just knock me out enough that I didn’t care about breathing.

Studly has his own medical stash separate from mine, a tradition started back when he once accidentally took the menstrual cramp reliever Midol and subsequently tried to puke them up lest he develop feminine attributes. Since then our drugs don’t occupy the same space. It’s a rule.

His nearly full bottle of Benadryl was front and center among his medicine collection. It took a couple of seconds to negotiate the child safety cap, but soon I had all those little pink pills at my disposal. 

That’s when Studly chose to surreptitiously come up behind me and playfully demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I shrieked and lost control of the bottle, sending it on a vertical trajectory aimed for the bathroom skylight. Little pink pills went everywhere. Everywhere. I was still finding them behind perfume atomizers and cosmetic jars this morning. 

And since my back wouldn’t let me bend over, poor Studly had to pick up all of the pills that landed on the floor. That’ll teach him to sneak up on me when I’m thieving. 

Fortunately I salvaged a couple of pills last night ensuring a deep sleep. Of course I still have the same dilemma tonight, and Studly has declared his medicine cabinet off-limits. I wonder how many glasses of wine equal two Benadryl?

  
Peace, people.

Back to Back

Invertebrates have no idea just how fortune smiled upon their meager lives

by denying them the gift of a spine. No backbone means no bulging discs, or

shooting pains from hip to shin. On most days I’m proud to count thirty-three

vertebrae from stem to stern, to be among the higher order of God’s creative will,

but today I’d gladly trade places with a spineless critter, preferably a

butterfly instead of a spider or mollusk. Certainly not a sponge.

  

Courting Studly

The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”

To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.  

I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.

Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears. 

After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign. 

Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand. 

Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me. 

Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”

So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans. 

This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused. 

There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!

Peace, people!

  

Limp About Town

Fifty-nine years and what do I know?

Apart from grey hair and wrinkles in tow

I’ve developed a limp and I’ve aches in my knees

That defy medication; I’m begging please

Just amputate everything south of my waist

I don’t need it anyhow so do it with haste

Before I have time to consider the loss

Of hips, thighs, legs, and those vaginal parts

I’ll still have my arms, my mouth, and brain

To write, rant, and think as I go slowly insane.

I’ve done something to my right hip which in turn is affecting my ankle. I’m walking as if I’m 102. It’s no fun. So, I turned it into this little ditty hoping it would make me feel better. So far, it hasn’t helped even a little bit. 

  



Jesus Take the Wheel

A friend called for an Uber ride, and just his luck…  
I always figured he’d drive a minivan. More room for the disciples.

Peace, people.

Cloudy with a Chance of Goof Ups

I was almost late to my doctor’s office this morning for my scheduled annual physical, so I didn’t check the forecast. The sky was overcast, but I knew my trusty umbrella was somewhere in the car. No worries.

I knew it was going to be an interesting day when I arrived at the doctor’s office, and the nurse asked, “Did you bring the samples?”

And I said, “Samples? Carpet? Wallpaper?”

“I sent you containers in the mail for urine and stool samples,” she said.

“When did you mail them?”

“Monday.”

“Well, they’ll probably be delivered today.”

She eyed me skeptically. “I’m sure you got them.”

I returned her stare. “If I’d gotten them I’d have done my duty (heh!)”

After several long heartbeats she looked away. “You’re going to have to give us a urine sample now. We can send the cup for the stool sample home with you.”

“Well, it’ll probably be there today,” I intoned, trying to keep a straight face.

With an honest to goodness “harrumph!” she indicated that I should go into the restroom where there were paper cups. I knew the drill, so I printed my name and the date on the cup and proceeded to do my thing. 

But when I went to put the cup in the little urine sample compartment I hit the bottom of the cup on the edge of the compartment and, you guessed it, liquid went everywhere. 

So I called for the nurse. She was so not happy with me. I offered to do the clean up, but noooo! Martyr.

Now I lacked any urine in my cup or anywhere else, except for the bit that got splashed on my capris pants. I used a wet wipe to clean that off. Now I have to take a sample back when I’ve managed to produce some.

The visit with the doctor went well. I told him some stuff. He nodded and wrote some prescriptions. But he knows how much I hate to take meds so he asked, “Why do we even bother?” 

“Because you’re an optimist at heart?”

He threatened to throw my chart at me, but I know his aim is as awful as his handwriting, so I didn’t even flinch.

From his office I went for my annual mammogram. The skies had opened up and rain was gushing down in buckets by the time I reached the breast imaging center. I reached into the backseat for my umbrella, and came up with only an atlas and a Publix shopping bag, neither of which make very good umbrellas.

Crap. There I sat in a white T-shirt trying to wait for a lull in the downpour. As the time for my appointment drew near I knew I had to make a dash for it. Gathering my purse to my chest and holding the Publix bag above my head I ran as quickly as my flip flops would allow and arrived at the front door drenched from head to toe.

At that exact moment I remembered that the doctor’s order for the mammogram was sitting on the passenger seat of my car. I cursed creatively and ran back the way from which I’d just come, dodging a close lightning strike on the way.  Taking brief refuge from the storm I sat in my car and laughed. Surely this would be a great blog article, if nothing else. 

I grabbed the bright pink mammogram sheet and scurried back to the center. Checking in with the main desk I took a clipboard and began filling in the necessary information. After turning my paperwork in I went to dry off in the restroom and noticed something odd on the front of my t-shirt:

  
Pink splotches all over the breast area. That was weird. My soggy purse wasn’t pink, so it didn’t come from there. Then I remembered the mammogram order from the doctor: 

  
Guilty.

So, my physical’s in the books for this year; although, I have to take in those samples and have some bloodwork done. My annual mammogram is checked off. Clear sailing from here on in. Well, we can always hope. 

It is still raining. And I still can’t find my umbrella. 

Peace, people!

In case of crocodile shortage:

An alligator might even make a good substitute for a GOP front runner whose name I won’t mention. But it rhymes, somewhat appropriately with “rump”.  

Peace, people!