Things are rolling along at the Hansen House after hip surgery, and I have tons of fun visitors. My sister is in town and I have BFFs dropping in left and right to be sure I’m okay, which a girl can never complain about.
The down side is I have to spend six hours a day on this evil contraption to the right. I’ve named her Cruella and I hate her. I started at 45 degrees last Friday and I am up to 55 degrees. I have to get to 100 degrees by a week from Thursday. Blurgh.
My sister is a Doctor of Chiropractic Medicine, so she has lots of groovy biological explanations for stuff. And I have to admit, especially with my current level of painkillers, there are times when my answer to her groovy is, “Hmmmmm.”
So, I convinced the team to let me have a glass of wine for Happy Hour yesterday, since “I deserved it after the Cruella torture.” And (at least from my perspective) the conversation went like this:
My Sis: Do you know how to remove the back loins? Because I do, and they’re delicious.
Hubs: Isn’t that called Rocky Mountain Oysters?
My Sis: That’s sheep’s balls. This was an elk. And it was the loins, not the testicles.
The rest of us: Hmmmmm.
My Sis: How are you doing from the antibiotics?
Me: It’s a little rough and tumble. Most of me hates antibiotics, if you know what I mean.
My Sis: Well they’ve got all sorts of things for that. Greek yogurt, baking soda mixtures.
Me: Greek yogurt in the Coo? Um, no.
BooBoo: Or, there’s suppositories.
Me: Suppositories?! Good Lord.
My Sis: You just toss it in the vestibule *finger quotes* and leave it.
BooBoo: Yeah. They don’t sizzle, or bubble or anything.
Me and Hubs: *spitting liquid*
BooBoo: Do you have a douchebag?
Me: What? NO. I don’t have a douchebag.
Hubs: Well, she has me.
Me: And who the hell even keeps around douchebags?
*All the women stared at me.*
BooBoo: You don’t have to go to the “adult store” to buy them. You can just go to any drugstore. You should buy one, just so you have one around.
My Sis: They even come in lavender and pink.
BooBoo: My mother used to hang them from the shower.
My Sis: My father used to use those on sinus infections when I was little.
BooBoo: I thought you used a neti pot for that.
My Sis: Well, I didn’t know! I was nine!!
[We all commiserated over the foibles of that particular father.]
My Sis: And why do they call people “douchebags?” Shouldn’t they call them a nozzle, since that’s what’s at the point of insertion? That seems like it might be more appropriate.
[I couldn’t even compute questions like that after my Vicodin and glass of wine.]
Me: Okay, I’ve got a question. Someone sent me this and they said it looks like Jesus. And I’m kind of scared I’m taking too many narcotics, because this actually looks like Jesus to me too. I’m also nervous to put it up on Facebook, in case the “too many drugs” part is true.
[Plus we’re all afraid we’re going to hell because we saw Jesus on a dog’s behind.]
I can only say that a whole new free-for-all began. And narcotics are a good thing. (So are the #hipjenny tweets that my pals have been sending out – thanks, y’all!)
Is it just my people who have conversations like this? And can you let me know if you see “the man in his robes” in that picture, or if it’s just the drugs? Enquiring minds need to know these things here at More Cowbell!