Joyce is relieved that the week is over although she’ll miss our semi-celebration of naughtiness. As it ends up, she didn’t need to worry because her boobs came through the exam just fine. However, as she prepared herself for the annual mammo yesterday, she howled like a naughty hound to vent nervous tension. She should get together with Mr. Salty (9.30 post) and they could have a howling contest. Or Salty might enjoy accompanying her to the appointment since he’s such a social dog. Joyce hates mammograms with a passion. If she had her druthers, she’d go with the colonoscopy hands down, but that’s only because she’s friends with Dr. AssMan. The mammo justs sends her howling at the moon and no one knows what to do about it.
This week Joyce also had her fifth vein lasering procedure completed and she feels like a brand new woman. She looks especially naughty wearing the flesh colored compression hosiery that must be worn after leg lasering . . .
Joyce had so many veins done in the past two months it was like summer construction and a re-routing of the interstate. In true Joyce fashion, the staff at the doctor’s office held a party in her honor as she was coming out of the final procedure in a delicious semi-groggy state. The staff gave Joyce a kiss/kiss/hug/hug and declared their love for her even though Joyce hopes she’ll never have to set foot in that office again. She may meet the nurses for an occasional coffee and she’ll miss that naughty semi-groggy feeling, but she does not want them touching her legs ever again.
We were reminded the other day of how naughty some people are when they sneak their own private buffet into a movie theater. Not that we think anyone should pay full movie snack prices, but some friends enter the theater wearing a big jacket looking like they weigh 300 pounds. After the movie’s over they walk out having dropped half their weight. We’ve gone to movies with friends who pull out Twizzlers, Junior Mints, bottled water, M&M’s, salted in the shell peanuts, their bacon of the month selection, doughnuts, and LOTS of booze. They eat their buffet, next they get bombed, and then they can’t remember where they are or why they’re wearing such an oversized jacket. How naughty is that?
In closing, let’s all sing together a little ditty to the melody of Thanks for the Memory (Bob Hope) . . .
Thanks for the naughtiness/the pets you cannot train/the kids you can’t contain/and wild turkeys pooping everywhere til you think you’ve gone insane/how lovely it was