We have been polling everyone we know about NW Flight 188 and when we plant the seed about the possibility of pilot/pilot frolicking in the cockpit, we find that our theory makes sense to a lot of people. We don’t mean to brag, but we’re pleased with our near genius assessment of the situation. We’ll continue this highly scientific, yet informal survey and keep you posted on our results.
Our friend Mar-jay has been going crazy because Chaz, who teaches down the hall, keeps offering her bars after school. Almond Joy, Heath, Kit Kat. Names we all know and love. Flavors we dream about. Every day after school she walks into his room and he says, “How ’bout a bar?”
Mar-jay may be going bar crazy, but we’re going stir crazy staring at these four walls. Bulldog came down with a nasty bug . . . headache . . . sore belly . . . dizziness . . . fever . . . his body on fire. We smelled SWINE. So we called the Doc and got an early appointment. However, we were not allowed to wait in the waiting room. If your kid has a fever these days, you’ve got to sit in the parking lot in your car with the little sickster and your cell phone turned ON. When you arrive, you call and let them know you’re there. Then you wait in your car. And wait. And wait for the call that the coast is clear, a room is open, and the Doc is ready for you. While you’re waiting in your car, you make polite conversation with your li’l sickee. You tell a few jokes, sing a few songs, and try to get a quiver of a smile from a kid who is sinking as fast as the Titanic.
Once they called us to come in from the parking lot, we ran like bats out of hell into the exam room. Bulldog sat on the table like the leaning tower of Pisa. The nurse gave him double ‘back of the throat’ swabs: swine and strep. Oh, the agony of those swabs. We don’t know if it’s worse to get swabbed or to watch someone else get swabbed. This is another informal survey we’re running. We think it’s worse to watch someone else get swabbed because you see their gag reflex which triggers your own gag reflex. Two gags for the price of one.
We waited for the verdict. Swine=zero. Strep throat=one. So, the kid is already better after one dose of the medicine. We appreciate everyone who gave us a sympathy call. The phone was Petula Clarking off the hook. We felt the love. Now we need a bar. P.S. Sometimes Joyce refers to Bulldog as that ‘little fart in a wind storm.’