So I went to the doctor today to get my sutures out.
Lucky me--the site is now infected and I'm going to be on crutches even longer now.
That was the last thing I needed to hear after sitting in the doctor's waiting room for almost three hours as numerous fools beeped and booped away on their text-phones or checked their voice mail via their speaker-phone feature. Seriously--since when did that become the new norm for public behavior? I don't want to hear your messages. (And I mean YOU, Shanisha.) And how do people who look like they just walked out of a refugee camp always manage to have the latest gadget-filled ultra-trick phones? I work for a living and I can't afford that stuff, but the sixteen-year-old pregnant hill-billy girl sitting across from me has one somehow.
Then I'm in seeing the doctor. And because he wants to open my wound up a bit to encourage draining, he tells me "this might hurt a bit..." as he jams his little pair of surgical pliers about an inch into my leg wound. Now all the little kids there were out in the lobby waiting with their teen moms know a new word...and it's not one that I care to type here. Actually I think that and kid who was within a block or two heard that word. But hell, they were gonna learn it somewhere sooner or later.
The doctor apologizes only sort of sincerely, then he points to my "National Matches" t-shirt and says "I guess I'm lucky that you don't have one of your guns in here. Ha, ha, ha... This is one of those reasons why doctors don't want their patients carrying guns. Ha, ha, ha..."
Yeah. As if. I didn't want to spoil his "joke" so I didn't tell him about the Ruger LCP in my pocket.
Do I sound pissed yet? It only gets better.
Murphy, that four-legged asshole, bum-rushed me when I opened the back door today. I had just opened it enough to throw some bread crusts out for the birds when he dashed for the opening. Reflexively I tried to block it with my foot, but damn it--there isn't a foot on that leg any more! (I really and truly hate it when I do that...) He shot out past me and went right next door to the house of cats and began chasing the countless feral cats around. Hell, I can't go after him on crutches, so I called my neighbors down the block who have been walking him twice a day for me and asked them to help corral him.
Now Murphy loves these two and their dogs, so when they went out in their front yard and called him, it looked like a fait accompli, right there. However, he did to them the same thing that he's done to me in the past--he would run right up to them, and even sit in front of them, b ut as soon as they try to grab him, he'd zoom off. Then he'd run round and round them, getting as close as he could, all the while moving so fast that they couldn't snag him.
OK, it's funny when he's not doing it to me--I admit it.
Finally I had an idea. I hopped down to the driveway, got in my vehicle, and drove down the road to where the neighbors were. By this time, Murphy was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's he at?" I asked.
"There he is...on Cat man's roof." Yep. Murphy was back at my crazy cat neighbors' house, and he was up on their garage roof again, having chased another cat up there. He stood there, staring down at us with his tongue lolling out and his eyes flashing with adventure.
I should have gotten a damned parakeet.
I backed up to the neighbor's driveway and popped my tailgate open. "Come on, Murph! Let's go for a ride!"
Murphy scampered down off of the roof and ran to the back of my vehicle. He flung himself up inside and I slammed the tailgate on him. That was almost too easy.
So I gave him his ride--once around the block--and then I clipped his leash on him when we got back in my driveway and I took him in the house. Jerk dog. Someone tell me again why I like him?
Anyway, the next two days are supposed to be bringing a ton of rain, which means that my basement's probably going to flood--no, check that--it WILL flood. And as much of a pain it is normally to run the shop-vac around the clock trying to keep pace with the incoming water, now I have to do it on crutches.
Hell, I'm gonna start drinking now.