Dr. Strangemom (or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the blog)

Jokes That Did Not Land Today At The Eye Doctor

Well, color me surprised.

One thing I've always counted on is that I am extremely hilarious at the doctor's office. My best work is done when I am naked. Ask anyone. Visual humor has been my thing since menopause.

I got to the eye doctor this morning still high from my set at Physical Therapy yesterday. Where I killed. Especially when I took off all my clothes so the nice young man could look at my heel while I walked up and down the hallway. Ho ho, you should have seen how fast the knee surgery people fled when I approached their wing. Maybe I should be a physical therapist; I really got those guys to MOVE.

You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I totally bombed at Ophthalmology today. Tough room. Visual humor isn't exactly their strong suit, so I kept my clothes on and relied on my wit. Fool me once.

 

Doctor: Can you read the bottom line of the eye chart?

Me: Um....H...B?....um...T...I don't know....another B?....and a Jewish star. Cool.

Doctor: (awkward silence)

 

Doctor: Your cataracts are a very milky white. Quite milky.

Me: So THAT'S why I never see people of color in Oregon! I thought it was the historical racism. (I offer a fist bump)

Doctor: (awkward silence)

 

Nurse: You're not going to believe how much clearer everything will be after your surgery.

Me: I'm not sure I want to see myself clearly, you know?

Nurse: No. What do you mean?

Me: You know, all the flaws and wrinkles and stuff. Cataracts are my beauty regime.

Nurse: Oh. 

 

Doctor: I'm going to dilate your eyes now.

Me: Is it time to push? I think my water just broke.

Doctor: I'm sorry?

Me: It's...never mind...do you have kids?

Doctor: Yes.

Me: Ah. How nice for you.

 

 

Nurse: If you are very nervous about the surgery, you can take a quarter of a Xanax pill that morning. 

Me: A quarter Xanax?  HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. That's my breakfast amuse-bouche.

Nurse: (awkward silence. Types something into the computer)

Me: Are you writing something about my drug habit? Because I don't have one. Ha ha ha ha ha. Also, even if I wanted to see what you were writing, I couldn't. Because cataracts. Ha hahahahaha. (Getting serious) That's called "irony".

(Nurse leaves the room. Comes back and turns off the computer. Leaves the room again)

 

Receptionist: May I see a photo ID, please?  

Me (giving her my drivers license with the worst photo EVER of me. Ask anyone): Okay, but don't judge. Can you believe it?

Receptionist (looks at photo. Looks at me): That's not such a bad picture. 

Me: Fuck you.

 

I'm trying to figure where I went wrong. Maybe I presumed Ophthalmology was a more nuanced audience. 

Thank God I have therapy tomorrow. They really get me there. 

 

 

 

Morning Becomes Her

There were eight photos of the sunrise on my FB newsfeed last week. What are people doing up at sunrise? And why are they doing it at sunrise? And when is sunrise?

I'm trying to think if I've ever been up at sunrise. Don't think so. Certainly not willingly.

Oh, when the kids were babies I was up at dawn but I was shaking my fists and railing at the sunrise; popping Tylenol and licking coffee grounds off of the bottom of my mug, thinking of something to fight about with Robin because I was so tired I needed to fight someone and it would be wrong to fight my babies. Although, truth be told, the babies were much bigger assholes to me than Robin ever was. I mean, Robin didn't wake me up, screaming, every three hours because he had peed his pants.

Or maybe he did. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper. 

But I saw the sunrise once again this morning.

Phila: Bark bark bark bark bark

Me: Shhhh. Let me sleep.

Phila: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK.

Me: Shhh. Let's just enjoy the quiet. Go back to sleep.

Phila: BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK!!!

I get out of bed, lurch to the kitchen and let her outside into the back yard. She takes a half step over the threshold and leans outside.

Me: Well? Are you just going to stand there? Hurry up.

Phila: I'm drinking rain water out of the compost bucket.  Jeez, unclench, girlfriend.

Me: What's with your attitude---

Phila: ---SQUIRREL!!!!!

She runs off. 

I close the door and go back to bed. I start to drift off. Zubin Mehta is making me a baked potato.

Phila: Bark bark bark bark bark bark!

I get up and let her in.

Phila: Why did you lock me out? It's raining!

Me: You ran off. And I was standing here in the cold--

Phila:---SQUIRREL!

And she's gone again. I go back to bed. Zubin Mehta brings me sour cream and chives.

Phila: Bark bark bark bark bark bark. Bark!

Back to the kitchen. Open the door. Phila stands at the threshold, considering her options.

Me: Get in the damn house, Phila.  I only have a half hour until--

Phila: --SQUIRREL! Gotta go!

Me: There is no goddamn squirrel, you big liar.

Phila: I know. I just get tired of listening to you complain. 

Me: You really are an asshole. Do you know how much I sacrifice---

Phila: --SQUIRREL! 

Me:  No! Stay! I said STAY!---

Phila: ---MOLE!

Me: Fuck you. I'm cold and---

Phila: ---LAND SHARK!

She runs off. I shut the door. God, I hate her. My next dog is going to be stupid with low self-esteem and will obey my every word. Same with my kids.  Fool me once.

I lean against the kitchen counter and think about better days. 

The sun is coming up behind the pine trees. The sky is turning blue and pink and yellow and magenta and magnificent. A squirrel runs atop the string of outdoor lights we put up for Aaron's wedding last Spring, calling to Phila.

She ignores it. She is sitting on the deck, staring out at the sunrise.

I open the door and walk out to the deck, shivering a little in my pajamas.

Me: It's beautiful, isn't it?

Phila: Shhhh. Let's just enjoy the silence.

And we do.