Hey! Have I told you about my newest disease? Wait! Come back! I'm sure you haven't heard this one. It's not like that time my mom went with me to an obstetrical appointment, and was near tears when I returned to the waiting room.
"Oh, honey! I was reading this magazine, and there was an article about a new disease which is sometimes fatal, and the more I read, the more I was convinced that I have it! I have all the symptoms! And then I turned to the back of the magazine to continue the article, and found out I'd been reading the pet column! It's a dog disease!"
No. It's not like that. I don't have a fatal dog disease. I didn't read about my symptoms in a magazine. No sirree, Bob! I gave myself a physical, and blanched at the findings. Okay. Not so much a physical as one might get at a doctor's office. More like an investigation of one's body after a red flag. Okay. Not so much a red flag as something out of the ordinary.
I was sitting here at my New Delly in my dark basement lair, and had a little itch on my left side, kind of over the rib cage. So I reached down to scratch, with my bare left hand, not with my red wooden backscratcher, because it was my RIBS, silly, not my BACK. And besides, my red wooden backscratcher is out by the blue recliner by the big screen TV.
So I reached down to scratch through the fabric of my purple pin-striped short-sleeved oxford big shirt, and had the most disconcerting realization that there was something on my skin! Not something like a bloated tick. That would be a dog disease. Try to keep up. I already told you it wasn't a dog disease. No, it was something like a firm mole. Not a mole like you might find tearing up your lawn. I'm pretty sure I would have noticed something that big up under my shirt before I felt an itch. Not a mole like a skin tag. They're flexible. They'll roll around like little blobs of that clear stuff that sticks labels on magazines.
No, this skin growth was firm, almost rectangular in shape, and as I scratched, IT MOVED! Not like that...um...IT that moved on George Costanza when he got a free massage from Raymond the physical therapist after getting a note from Jerry's dentist who was not Tim Whatley.
This rectangular skin growth came right off my rib skin! It was almost sickening. I had scratched off a mole! And there it was, sliding around under my shirt. Well. I couldn't let that go on for long. What if I had severed some minor blood vessels? I could be bleeding out. I'm on blood-thinners, you know. I resisted the urge to scream, "We've got a bleeder!" I had to determine the extent of the damage. I reached my hand up under the bottom of my shirt. Didn't feel any slime like blood. But there was the mole! I pulled it out from under the shirt to get a look at it by the glow of New Delly's monitor.
It was a tidbit of diced onion.
So THAT'S where that dropped morsel went as I bit into a hot dog with the works.
Never mind.
Funny, and I'm glad it was something to laugh at instead of being something serious.
ReplyDeleteI think you should bring the piece of diced onion in for a biopsy. Just to make your mother happy.
ReplyDeleteSo, a little snack long after the dog was finished?
ReplyDeleteIn a few years, I'm going to be able to store small sandwiches in the folds in my neck.
Ain't gettin' older fun?
Laughed so hsrd I scared the cat. I found bacon in my purse.
ReplyDeleteThat is hilarious!
ReplyDeleteStephen,
ReplyDeleteFor a minute, I felt like that lady who drove home from the grocery store one summer, with her shopping bag on the back seat of the car, and parked in her driveway, and heard a shot ring out, and felt a pain in the back of her head, and reached up to feel her brains oozing out! When the paramedics arrived, they found a rising biscuit stuck in her hair, and an exploded can on the back seat.
*****
joeh,
I haven't told her the story yet. She'll get all worked up, and then start laughing and coughing, and then say, "Oh, now you've got me tickled!" But she would still insist on a biopsy.
*****
Sioux,
Well, I suppose you could put it that way. But Val is not ashamed to be thought eating after the dog. Let's not forget that she has actually almost EATEN the dog, what with chewing (inadvertently) on a rubbery black canine proboscis.
(Private note, to Sioux only: Maybe you could tuck your boobs into the folds of your neck to keep from tripping on them. Don't cost nothin'...)
*****
Linda,
That cat is going to develop post-blogmatic stress syndrome. Put him out of the room when you read blogs. As far as the purse bacon...if you find some lettuce and tomato, I'll spring for the bread, and we'll pack our sandwiches in Sioux's neck folds and go on a picnic!
*****
Catalyst,
I knew something was amiss when I felt a tidbit fall out of my hot dog bun, yet I couldn't find it on the boob shelf that usually catches my spills.
Val--I meant a snack after the hot dog was finished. I myself have recently had to topple on the brink of yanking food from a puppy's mouth--my breakfast--and I would have, but that dog got my scrambled egg and toast down its gullet in record time...
ReplyDeleteNice recovery!
DeleteBut let the record show that I have not yet barreled down the road of inappropriateness, careening toward the precipice overlooking the chasm of TAKING CAT KIBBLE OUT OF MY SWEET, SWEET JUNO'S GULLET. Sorry. I got a little worked up there. I was picturing you with your head in a lion's--I mean Radar's--mouth like a circus performer.