Quote of the Day:
“We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.” –Shakespeare, Henry IV
…..FOUR freakin’ stitches. In the face. The second time this year.
The Little Scamp is a pretty well-coordinated kid. But when she falls, by God she falls. On stuff. With sharp edges. Face first.
And so off to the plastic surgeon’s we went after retrieving the bloodied, bruised, but unbowed Scamp. Expecting histrionics, we were surprised to find her in the Principal’s office looking more sheepish about the whole affair than distraught. The teacher had already wiped her face and the bleeding had stopped, so we could see the wound was superficial, but splayed. Sadly experienced at this game, we knew to skip straight past the emergency room and into the plastic surgeon’s office. They know us there. So even if the gatekeeper tried to give us trouble about “appointments” and “referrals” and such, Rock Star wasn’t gonna be buyin’. The best guy in town sews up the Little Scamp, and he does it now. No further discussion is necessary on that point.
But before we could get in the car, the Scamp insisted we go back to her classroom. Fridays are “show and tell” after all, and she was amped. Actually, she first insisted she was staying at school and we could get bent, but one look into the eyes of Rock Star ended that particular line of discussion, the look that cows even the legendary hardheadedness of the offspring of TB. Anyway, she marched proudly back to class, showed everyone her Rudolph and his Red Nose, accepted, not only unapologetically but gluttonously, luxuriously, their sympathy and love and admiration, offered and received with the dearth of self consciousness which only four year olds are capable. Then she gamely departed, not looking back, to face the needles and thread with the stoicism and blissful ignorance which only an almost four year old is capable.
Me? I spent four freakin’ hours waitin’ on four freakin’ stitches in the “patient’s lounge”–don’t get me started about that. Left a to-do list for Friday that featured items not done Thursday a mile long unattended at the office. Calculated our financial hit, based on experience, at about forty Sally Slutzzzes. Missed my Thursday Pickin’ regular season finale and playoff preview deadline (rescheduled for this Thursday). Had to watch Fox News all afternoon. And got the good word as we made for the exits that the Scamp won’t have to be put to sleep when the stitches come out. I get to restrain her. Which is gonna be pretty freakin’ rotten. Maybe I’ll let “Ishmael” or “Jean-Luc” or “Ralph” or whatever the hell his name was just send that Barbara Boooty after all. ‘Cause it’ll be the Little Scamp’s turn to rant come Wednesday, and I may need a bribe because, let me just say, the kid’s got “it” in her blood. Trust me. You can still see it on her shirt….
….THREE triple AAA’s, TWO billing errors and a lounge in a mall ain’t no lounge.