DIXIELAND

     Yet again, this isn't the post that is supposed to be posted here. It's written, but I can't find it. It's about grapes, and it is funny.
      I keep making this logical plan for how these posts fit together, but then my life gets in the way and revises my Diabolical Master Plan (DMP). Some version of this DMP disruption has been going on ever since The Gummer stopped micromanaging me like a babbling little yellow-headed puppet. I'm generally fine with it, but it weirds me out when there are witnesses to my slapdash factor. Yet I continue to invite them in.
    So....
    I have some weird lump in my abdomen that people are sick of hearing about on facebook. I'm going to write about it here.

    Actually, there's just something I want to explain:

    WHY I SHAVED MY PUBES BEFORE I WENT TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM TODAY

    When I was in seventh grade, I had a hernia. To clarify, I had a hernia for ALL of seventh grade. It would poof out...
   
     (Okay, wait.  This post has a seventh grade girl in it. Girls have bodies. If that bothers you, please stop reading, unfriend me on facebook, and seek some Really Big Helpy-Help. Do not watch Nancy Grace or the Kardashians. Just play Angry Birds or something until your appointment. Thank you.)

 ... when I went to the bathroom and it was an effin abnormality. The Gummer was once a nurse anesthetist. The Gummer looked at Effie and said, "Damn it, Lah-rie! You're such a hypochondriac!"      When I had my physical, The Gummer said in extra-nasally, only-child-'cause-somebody-woulda-smacked-that-voice-outta-your-head voice: "Oh, would you just humor her and look at this?"
     And the doctor looked at her like "WTF?" before "WTF?" ever was, and said,"Um, Cookie? That's a HERNIA."
    (The Gummer is Cookie is Betty is Betty Jean. Her dad used to call her "Tootsie" but my Grandma said it made her sound like a prostitute and so a Cookie was born.)
    I bring this hernia incident up every time I can. If I fart funny, we're gonna talk about the hernia incident. If I see a star and she doesn't, we're gonna talk about how she almost destroyed my ovaries before I ever transferred to that Big 10 school. We are competitive people, and that is one of my trump cards.

   So I had surgery. My dad went to the hospital, and we ended up hanging out by ourselves for a while and just kind of chatting. It was weird to be in a hospital with my dad. He didn't do the office-type parenting gigs. My dad did "store" and "car" and "yard" and "baseball diamond".
I was enjoying the novelty of the situation. We were chatting. It was cool. The kitten was conversating.
  Then a nurse came in and said, "I'm here to prepare your daughter for the surgery."
  My dad was like "Okay, yeah" in whatever polite way he would have indicated indifference.
  Then she was like "Um, no... PREPARE her for the SURGERY."
   My dad's eyes went all freaked out and panicky (and he wasn't a freaked out and panicky kind of man EVER) and he started walking backwards really fast and then he was gone.
  I was left with Dixie and her razor...  and her fucking wandering eye.
  It's a strabismus. I just looked it up. It's an Andy Cohen. It's a drifter. It's a childhood memory that you never forget.
   I spent twelve years growing those pubes, Dixie. You need to focus.


 

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