(To the tune of Lady Gaga's Judas)
"ALL my grades are IN! ALL my grades are IN! ALL my grades are IN"
Indeed they are.
No more papers to read, grade, haggle over, contemplate, reflect upon, consider, examine, until the end of September.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Visiting our family doctor yesterday was full of the usual shits and giggles.
Keith: good.
Em: lactose intolerant.
Which was better than what I thought: celiac disease.
And it isn't that much of a surprise, as Em is the queen of internet diagnosing, and common sense indicated that when she didn't eat dairy she didn't feel like her insides were trying to crawl out through her nostrils.
Still, it means a lifetime of making sure she doesn't eat dairy.
She's tried the lactaids and such, but they don't seem to make much of a difference in how she feels afterwards, so avoidance, or abstinence as she referred to it yesterday, seems the more appropriate option.
I was up next and the first thing she did was look at my heating pad burn.
That's a second degree burn you have there, she said.
Oh? I replied.
But, it's healing nicely.
Oh good.
How did it happen, she asked?
I told her.
She laughed.
Because really, what else was there to do?
And then, the final act: my pap test.
Enough said.
After the doctor's we headed to Frenchy's, a gently used clothing store in Oromocto.
I love it.
Especially now, as I have lost a total of 75 pounds, and all my clothes from last summer are a little big.
In particular, shorts, capris. . .
The crotches of said garments are at my knees.
And we know I am loathe to purchase anything over $5.00 because I know by the end of the summer it won't fit.
Hence Frenchy's.
A mecca for those of us in a state of apparel transitioning and who are on a tight budget.
My foray didn't yield what I had hoped, as the last time I came out with pants, shirts, all kinds of things.
But, I did manage to get a pair of shorts, a pair of capris, and a t-shirt.
So at least I won't be running around naked or worse, looking like I'm trying to revive MC Hammer's pants.
Break it down, HAMMERTIME!
Mer and Keith, along their compadre Shauna, went to Moncton for the night to visit with their recently relocated amigo Amy.
This caused me some concern.
As always, I worry about the three of them driving to Moncton, with intentions of getting as fuzzy headed as possible as soon as they get there.
Plus, I'm worried about Amy.
Your kids spend so much time with other kids that eventually they ALL become your kids.
But, to be completely honest, I was most worried about Jasper.
He is far too young to be left on his own overnight, and unless Miss Mer could make alternate arrangements, meaning someone to come and stay the night with him, she wasn't going anywhere.
I would have made sure of that.
As usual, however, someone always steps up to the plate for Mer. . . .
. . .an activity that is being scaled down as we speak. . . .
. . .and Em agreed to spend the night at Mer's apartment with Jasper.
Em wants a new kitten.
And this was her opportunity to spend time with one without the hassle of trying to convince me and Stephen that our little household could only benefit from the addition of a kitten.
We had considered bringing Jasper here for the night, but he is so tiny I was worried that Goblet would think he was a snack and Frankie, who is a gambooling, ungraceful, long-legged, high energy hooligan would think he was a new toy.
Hence, it was better if Em relocated for the night, instead of Jasper.
I was worried about Em being in Mer's apartment on her own for the night.
I know, I know, it's a security building, blah, blah, blah. . . .
Stephen's assessment that it would be harder for me than Em was, perhaps, correct.
My cell phone by my side of the bed.
Just in case.
It never rang.
And at 9.00 am, I was awakened by the clarion call of canine bladders needing emptying.
So all must have been okay with Em and Jasper.
If not, I'll know soon.
I have to pick her up in 15 minutes for work.
Title Lyric: Babysitting by the Ramones
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