Yesterday, I had to go to the doctor, because my throat is still bothering me. Do you remember about a year and a half ago when they put me out and checked my throat because it always feels like it's CLOSING UP on me? And they were all, "You have GERD." Yeah, thanks. Looking forward to paying $900 for that.
Anyway, it's been bugging me again, so I went to a different doctor, and be sure to tell me things like, "Take Prilosec, June."
The point is, he grabbed a piece of gauze and right away I got panicky. He grabbed my tongue, and stuck that damn mirror thing in the back of my throat.
Next thing I knew, he'd flown across the floor on his little rolly chair, so fast and furiously did I put that man's arm out my mouth and shoved it across the room.
"Sorry," I said, "that makes me panicky."
We tried again.
Roll. Room. Oh my god, did I shove that man out my way.
"We're going to have to use the hooo-dee-frooo-gen-hooogan," he said, then called for his delightfully gay assistant, who had liked me when the day began.
"Is this going to be awful?" I asked, starting to get sweaty. "Well, no, I don't think so," said Delightfully Gay.
And that is when they shoved a tube into my nose with no numbing stuff. I let him do it for maybe 30 seconds before bursting into tears, the kind of tears a four-year-old would burst into. It was ridiculous. I had no idea I was gonna cry like that.
DG handed me some tissue. "Your makeup is just everywhere."
"Well, I didn't get a really good look at your larynx," the doctor said, "but I'm not worried about cancer, and I do know you have sinusitis."
So I'm on a Z-Pack and I have to go back in a week. I'm also supposed to elevate the head of my bed, a thing that last guy said didn't do any good. How Ima do that alone is beyond me. If you don't hear from me, it's because my bed collapsed on me.
When I got to work, my bra was wet, I'd been sweating so much. It was a relaxing doctor visit. They should include that looking-down-your-nose thing as an option at the spa.
In the meantime, that closed group I was on on Facebook? Had another flouncer. I referred to flouncing the other day, but if you didn't see it, it's when someone gets mad a group or a thread online, and instead of just quietly leaving, they announce they are going. A few people have done that here. "I've HAD it with you and your sinusitis, June!" they'll say, slamming the door.
Anyway, in this particular Facebook group, whenever someone flounces, people put up the most hilarious memes.
Anyway, I got a big kick out of all those, and giggled myself silly, then quietly left the group, because really it's not that nice of a group. It was a childfree-by-choice group, which is great and all, but really it was a "I hate all women with kids, and I hate their children more" group. It wasn't supportive, it was just mean.
I was looking forward to rolling my eyes at the occasional insufferable mom, don't get me wrong. The kind who, when you announce your promotion or trip to the Netherlands or whatever, they'll say, "Magnum pooped in the potty for the first time!" Everything has to be about their kid. Those women. But I wasn't prepared to detest all mothers in the world. I mean, what about Mama Leone? She leaves those nice notes on the door.
And what about all the flowers that you planted, mama, in the back yard? She seems like a nice mother.
And you can't deny the subtle charm of Mother Teresa. So.
I gotta go. I'm running late because I sat here like an idiot watching Anderson Cooper the person not the cat argue with that Kellyanne Conair or whomever and I was riveted. Mostly I was riveted by how she had gloss on her bottom lip and not the top. "Purse your lips," I kept thinking. "Fix that shit."
But before I go, I had one of my "FINE, then" moments this week. I was throwing a ball for Steely Dan this weekend, to celebrate his neutering. I invited, I don't know, 60 people? You know how I get.
So a TON did not RSVP, and that makes me furious. Like, out of proportion to the act furious. It's just so fucking rude. But then 24 people said yes. Which, yay! But then people started changing their minds. "Oh, I forgot. I'm being made pope that day." That sort of thing.
So day before yesterday, I was at my desk, and I got three Nos in a row. Boom boom boom, all within an hour.
"FINE, then" I said, and canceled the whole thing.
It was so something my grandmother would have done.
Then I was inundated with messages. "Are you really canceling?" they'd ask, because you know how those fake cancellations are. "I was planning to come!"
Then I felt sad. All sorts of people wanted to come over, and I got all FINE, then, and I KNEW I was being all FINE, then when I did it. Whenever I feel weepy at the back of my throat, my closed throat, I know I should not make decisions. But there it is, and I'm not having a party, and I've made plans to go out that night with just one friend, and we aren't sure what we're doing other than we decided NOT a color run. So.
My FINE, thens are really my worst trait. Well. That and this nose.
Talk at you.
FINE, then.
June
