Last week, my double chins and I trekked out to Waldo to meet up with the long-limbed royalty known as "Bossy" . I also met a few of the KC Bossy Posse (Rita, Average Jane, Angie, Anne, Becky, Kate, Jenny, and Deanna, with special shout out to Kim and Linda!) It was a fun evening with an important lesson learned - find quiet spots for blogger meetups. I really wanted to talk with folks, but barely managed a few shouted conversations. Still, it was fun. And I was going to talk about it, then yesterday cracked me upside the head.
Scene: Hapless, double-chinned heroine enters her garage and opens the door to her car. As she begins the descent into the car, she hears a noise, turns her head and proceeds to whack her head into the car.
Immediately, I saw stars. Then, my vision took on the form of a rolling wave. Jerry Bruckheimer could not have directed my vision better at that point.
I sat for a few minutes, collected myself, then went back inside. Gentle reader, I was pretty shaken but as luck would have it, I married an Indian. Did you not know that most Indians have a extra strand in their DNA labeled "MD". Fortunately for me and Blue Cross/Blue Shield, Dr. Manoj was able to surmise that my nausea was due to the adrenaline rush and that I would be fine. Fine! Keep in mind that my personal un médecin is battle worn when it comes to my medical dramaz. Dr. Manoj has seen it all, at this point. (says she who regularly lops off fingertips with her fancy knives and considers Diego bandages an essential fashion accessory. Heidi Klum, you listening?)
With relief at my medical verdict, I then headed out for my errands (some personal, some for work).
3 Hours Later:
I still seem to be a quivering, jellied plate of poo wandering in a weird cloud of haze. I have a headache. My hearing is a roaring tunnel, at times. I could not complete my errands. I am actually a little scared at this point and consult Dr. Google. However! As mentioned, there is a real human-like doctor in our house. Lucky me! Herr Doktor gently pushes Dr. Google out of the room and proceeds to examine me again. He determines I have not actually vomited and that I can accurately count his fingers (technically speaking, he has 4 fingers, 1 thumb. But el doctor has no sense of humor at that point. Tsk tsk. ) However, I am not vomiting and I have not actually taken a rest yet (hell no - I still managed to get two loads of laundry and one load of dishes done. Top that, bitches). As such, the good Doctor Sahib prescribes a strict regimen of bed rest and cheeseburgers (Five Guys: with pickles, jalapenos and grilled onions)
With a belly full of beef, I spend the rest of the evening in bed, thumbing through gossip rags. Folks, don't try this at home.
And forget the lawyers. Daughters, marry yourselves a doctor.