The Scene: Medical office. Doctor is sitting somberly behind his desk, shaking his head sadly as he reviews my test results. I am perched on the very edge of a chair in front of his desk, sweating profusely and about to either faint, vomit, or both.
Sad Doctor: "Ms. CrankyPants, Ms. CrankyPants, Ms. CrankyPants...why, oh WHY didn't you get this looked at 6 months ago? We could have saved you! Now...it's far too late." [more sorrowful head shaking]
Panicky Ms. C-P: "Blkhjkdbgysnph!" [inarticulate mumbling, vomiting, or both]
Now-Annoyed Doctor: "Assistant! Remove Ms. CrankyPants from my office at once! See to it she doesn't soil the carpet. And be sure to get her co-payment!"
If I don't do something to stop it (like watch a trashy TV show or read gossip sites online), my terrifying little fantasy gets a lot more involved, but I don't want to totally depress you. So I'll switch to something cheerier:
I'm going bald! Yes, folks, there is an alarming patch of thinning hair that I'm seeing the dermatologist about next week. (Clearly, vanity propels me to the doctor a lot faster than a possibly life-threatening Suspicious Swelling.) Hopefully, the hair loss is caused by something delightful like a fungus that can be cleared up with a smelly and scalp-stinging shampoo, but I'm certainly open to other, deadlier, reasons for this latest addition to Things Wrong with Ms. CrankyPants. Even Capt. Nap is
|"I can't look at your fungus-covered scalp! It's hideous!"|