Labor Day weekend started somewhat invasively as I accompanied John to a doctor's office for a procedure that would examine an area that doesn't see much sunlight. The events that occurred over those few hours are worthy of a solitary post, but considering that the colonoscopy did not happen to me, and quite unfortunately, to my poor spouse, I have to refrain from and therefore censor all commentary on the subject matter just begging my brain for release.
I will say this - and with full permission from my husband – I could have never imagined in a million years a scenario that involved the two of us in a curtained off space receiving the following instruction from a nurse: “You may get dressed to leave when YOU HAVE PASSED A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF GAS.”
Just let that sink in for a few moments.
Is there ever an amount that would seem “reasonable” and how do you say that particular phrase all day long with a straight face? In addition, do you realize that this would be like telling a small child they can’t leave a candy store until consuming at least 25 pieces?
That is all I am able to comment on at this time.
(However, if you see me in real life, please allow me to tell you how John, when he was first coming out of his drugged stupor, was convinced he had been anesthetized with vodka, or how he drank from the water fountain, and then turned to face me with water dripping from his nose, mouth and chin.)
Seriously, I can’t say another word. In hindsight, I’ve already said too much.
(By the way, I did overhear a doctor tell a patient’s wife that her husband’s results confirm that his head was not, in fact, up THERE.)
Okay, now I’m done. Notice how I am now changing the subject.
This past Saturday was the joyful season opener for my beloved Bulldogs. We gathered with a group of friends before the game, setting up tents, chairs and tables of food because everybody knows that you can’t adequately watch a football game until properly fed and hydrated.
Chas (the fellow in the black chair) is much taller than his posture would suggest. Also notice, that his positioning is similar to the one I experienced a few days ago when driving to work:
Me and Gassy, I mean John:
Terry, Tricia, me, Doreen and Sabrina
Chas, John, Jon, Clark and Rick:
Me and my good friend, Mr. Dubble Chenn:
Season opener demands one wear new shoes and new socks. This is a picture of Jon going “old school” with the tube sock pulled up to his knees. He later accessorized with wrist sweat bands:
After the game (GO DOGS) we picked up our three children from Nana’s house (thank you!) and met Jon and Tricia for a game of laser tag at a nearby children’s entertainment center. We strapped on vests with infrared-sensitive targets on the chest, grabbed guns that came straight off the set of Star Trek and ran into the battle arena.
The laser gun given to each participant made convincing noises each time the trigger was pulled. The sounds boosted my confidence as I ambitiously darted through the maze, shooting at the targets that I found in my path regardless of age or family status.
The conclusion of the game produced printouts of each player’s score which included a detailed report of who lasered who, and the ranking of each player according to the skill and accuracy demonstrated during the game. I eagerly scanned my individualized report.
Out of 18 participants, my ranking was 18th. As in last.
(That can’t be right. Did the others not notice the agility and stealth I exhibited when pursuing others in a sneaky, covert manner?)
Also, it appeared as though I shot myself on more than one occasion.
The weekend was a lot of fun, spending quality time with family and friends and laughing until our guts hurt. But most importantly and with great relief, John's procedure resulted in positive results.
All’s well that ENDS well.
(So sorry. I couldn’t help myself.)