I’m heeding Labelle’s advice and (mostly) taking the night off, though I’ll ignore their commandment to disrobe since the living room window is open and I don’t give it up for free — if you want to be traumatized by my nudity, you’ll have to date me or subscribe to my OnlyFans like anyone else.
Tomorrow I’ll be back with something that provides all the boringness you’ve come to expect. If anything interesting happens at the swallow study, we can talk about that (the test itself is simple and boring, but you never know what you’ll overhear in the waiting room), and maybe I’ll solicit opinions on which floor and backsplash tiles to use in the lighthouse’s kitchen and bathroom.
There are about a half-dozen nearly finished drafts of more substantive posts that I could work on, too, but it’s likelier a stranger will push me over the edge by having a loud FaceTime conversation in the waiting room and I’ll churn out 12 incoherent paragraphs about it. A few months ago, when I accompanied Crankenstein to an appointment, the guy next to me in the waiting room had a long FaceTime session with a relative and then started blasting a sermon on his phone.
It wasn’t the first time Jesus made an appearance in such a setting; just a few months prior I was given a rubber bracelet in a waiting room by a woman wearing a t-shirt about the power of prayer. It was much thicker than a Livestrong or What Would Jesus Do? bracelet and read “GOD GOT YOU” in all caps.
“Indeed he did,” I wanted to reply with an appreciative chuckle. “He’s quite the merry prankster.” But she wouldn’t have been amused and probably didn’t belong to any demographics that would’ve gotten my alternate joke, either: “First, he came for Walter Findlay…“