While driving my speedy wheelchair towards the pharmacy window, I heard some yelling and screeching about 10 feet behind me:
Some random woman (SRW): Damn it! Madame J: Ouch! Watch where you're going! SRW: It's not fair! Madame J: Excuse me? SRW: That wheelchair beat me to the pharmacist. Madame J: Is that why you ran into me? You were trying to race the wheelchair? SRW: It's not fair. I should have run faster. Madame J: Oh, really? SRW: Really. Damn wheelchairs. I should have run faster.
Ah, LIFE...I'm in the midst of moving my medical care to UCSF, and I have taken a brief break from continuing the ER saga. Between transferring over 32 GB of medical history, medications and test results-- and researching current folklore and folktales for an upcoming podcast gig on"Faery Tales for Grown Ups"-- and finishing Dana's love story (more about this, later...)-- and conducting online promotions for my new dragon romance released September 6th-- time has become my enemy. Temporarily, of course. I leave you with this fabulous exchange between myself, Madame J, a mother and her 6-year-old daughter in Trader Joes:
Daughter: (singing in the shopping cart) It's cold, it's cold, I hope I don't get sick. I'm sick-- cough, cough! I'm sick, I hope I don't get cold-- cough! cough! I'm cold, I'm cold, I hope I don't sneeze-- achew! I sneezed! I sneezed-- achew, achew, achew!
The daughter shakes her arms and pretends to shiver.
Mom: Oh, please, don't be such a drama queen! Madame J: (looking at me) That's you as a child. Don't lie, drama queen. Me: Shut up.
