Phone rings this morning, just as I'm on my way out the door. It's so-and-so with the County Health Department wanting to let me know that the dogs that bit me while I was out on deliveries a week and a half ago finished their "confinement" yesterday and they're both fine so there's no need to worry about rabies. I hadn't actually been worried about rabies since the dogs' owner had supplied the emergency room with the dogs' vaccination records, but I told Mr. So-and-So that I appreciated the call.
When I hung up, Hubby said, "What was that?"
I said, "That was the Health Department letting me know I don't have rabies."
He said, "Well, then, we need to figure out what is wrong with you."
(A confidential PS to Rummy: I always thought my fondest wish regarding you was that you would resign, but now that that wish has been fulfilled I realize that my true fondest wish for you is that you will live long enough to suffer as much heartbreak and endure as many sleepless nights as your irresponsible and thoughtless actions have caused so many others. I realize this is statistically unlikely and pretty close to mathematically impossible--given your advanced age and the large number of lives you've ruined, but a girl can hope, right?Don't let the door hit ya' in the ass on the way out.)
The Wrong Impression
20 hours ago