I’m Not Sure if This is Irony, But it Feels Very Much Like it
Posted by Moose on June 30th, 2006. Filed under: Meat Suit.It’s easy to mock Alanis Morissette for declaring that access to 10,000 spoons is ironic when all you really need is a knife. Whenever I’m tempted, I realize that – like Winona Rider in Reality Bites – I was an English major, went to a fancy college, and still couldn’t define irony if there was 20 bucks and a large cookie in it for me.
I got in trouble last night for making three, I will admit, somewhat pointless phone calls in 10 minutes. This apparently is not the accolade I thought it was. So a certain cell number was deleted from my phone. To avoid future repetitions of the unfortunate mishap. Even without the phone number, it’s not like I would ever go more than eight hours without voice-on-voice action. Except that the owner of that cell phone left for Oregon this morning, with the dog, who I admit I would kind of like some kisses from right now. Even though I know she licks indelicate bits of her anatomy before applying that same tongue to my face.
You’re still waiting for the irony, aren’t you?
Today I get a phone call from the doctor’s office. They found something irregular and I need to go back in for some procedure that I can neither spell nor pronounce. My doctor said, and I quote, “Don’t worry. You don’t have cancer.”
This is not as reassuring as she probably meant it to be. First off, you never want a message from your doctor with the word “cancer” in it. Second, call me the panicking type, but I immediately inserted the word “probably” in between “you” and “don’t have cancer.”
So. I now have a legitimate reason for calling and I DON’T HAVE THE NUMBER. Because I stupidly deleted it. Thinking, “What, is there going to be some kind of emergency? Naaah.” Emergency or not, any time a doctor leaves a message on your machine and uses the word “cancer,” I think that merits a guilt-free phone call, don’t you? Even if the c-word was preceded by “you don’t have.” Perhaps I am being stupid. Perhaps this sort of thing is exactly why I deleted that number in the first place. So I won’t make a call simply to yell, “I DON’T HAVE CANCER!” into an innocent, unsuspecting ear.
Schnozz will just have to comfort me with lots of cocktails and cookie-baking when she arrives on Saturday night. Yes, I know you all would kill to trade pet stories with this woman, but guess what? She’s mine! All mine! (That sounded far less creepy in my head.)
But I deserve it. I don’t have cancer.
Related posts:
