It totally lowers people’s expectations of you. Like, maybe when you WEREN’T on drugs people would expect you to go to work, or update your blog, or wash your face or something. Perhaps even NOT WEAR THE SAME FLANNEL PANTS WITH THE SNOWFLAKES ON THEM FOR FOUR DAYS RUNNING. But as soon as you start popping those pills they’re all ‘Here, have a seat! Let me wipe your face! Pudding?’. BEING ON DRUGS IS THE BEST THING EVER!*
I had made all sorts of elaborate post-surgery plans—pre-drugs, of course—and even a list of things to pick up at the drugstore after the surgery, in case I was feeling so loopy I tried to convince T-Bone to let me buy an inflatable pool for my living room or something. The list looked like this:
- Terrible, terrible book (Qty 2)
Sadly I was totally coherent after the procedure. At least, that is my recollection. T-Bone? Can you back me up on this? Anyway I don’t remember trying to buy anything crazy at Bartell’s, which is a damn shame because there are often some crazy-ass people hanging out in Bartell’s, and this was my chance to be one of them! Alas—total, total failure to crazy-it-up.
As for the rest of the afternoon, and the following 3 days…well, what can I say? Grandmaster Flash spent the first day with me, and he even brought his laptop like I asked him to so that I could send out a LIVE! Account of Operation Yank ‘Em Out. Instead I forced him to watch Terms of Endearment with me AND some horrible movie involving prisoners and gardening and British people. Poor poor Grandmaster Flash.
(Also—don’t tell anyone but I think he is afraid of Winston Churchill! The Winster seemed fascinated by GmF’s bald head—voluntarily bald, ladies! (I got your back GmF—except for that whole part where I told everyone you are afraid of my tiny cat…umm…so yeah. Except for this part.)—but anyway, Winston kept trying to smell GmF’s head, GmF kept flinching away like he was going to be RIPPED APART AT ANY MOMENT, and I kept laughing. And then crying, because Debra Winger was totally too young to die, OMG where is the justice?!)**
So in recap, I did not post from my couch. I did not take pictures of my hilariously swollen cheeks, but then, my cheeks never really…swelled hilariously. Or something. All in all having my teeth yanked out of my head was pretty uneventful, and I feel mostly OK, although I’d love me a pizza right now. But I promise you this, Internet—there are sure to be much more exciting (read: much gorier!) medical ‘situations’ in my future, possibly involving parasites, and I will TOTALLY write about them. Are you just breathless with anticipation?
Oh actually—one more thing. The tooth removal people asked me if I wanted my teeth, and I said yes, mostly because I just wanted to have a look at them but also because I felt like maybe it was rude to refuse or something. Is there etiquette for these situations? I mean, quite a lot of effort was exerted to get at those little buggers, not to mention MONEY and so I figured I should hold on to them, but now I have this…bag of teeth. That I am not sure what to do with. Did anyone else keep their teeth? Should I make some sort of necklace, or perhaps decoupage them onto a lovely picture frame? Has Martha ever done a segment on this? Can I just throw them away now? I have sort of the same issue with greeting cards. I mean, someone went to all the trouble of getting it for me…but what am I really going to do with it? If you have any tips, let me know.
*Hey kids—obviously I jest. Don’t do drugs, ever, as they are very very bad and will lead only to misfortune and eventual death. Probably.
**I apologize for the complete lack of grammatical structure in this paragraph. And GmF is afraid of kittens!
***This last note is apropo of nothing—I just want to give a GIANT THANKS to all the lovely folks out there who contributed to me getting to be on drugs for four days. Thanks all. Really really.