Thursday, May 11, 2006

A Presciption for a Pathological Liarhead

I don't know what my deal is.

I can't help it.

I just do it.


"What seems to be the problem, Miss?"  They ask me with their starched white coats and cold stethoscopes at the ready.

"Nothing!  AB-solutely fine and dandy!" I say through the pain, the blood, the cracked teeth- whatever it is that is ailing me.

I did this today.  I totally lied:  "I'm feeling much better!"

"Well, your test did come back negative... Maybe we should wait to do the scan?  See if it improves?" 

"Sounds wonderful!"  I say, full of spunk and chipperness.

"Okay then, just hop up here and let me look at ya for a minute..." 

She pokes me. 

I wince. 

"Okay then, what time shall I schedule the hidescan for you?" 

Drats.   Foiled again...


dpoem said...

Helpful tip:  When the GI Doctor asks if you'd like the six-foot or nine-foot, go for the six.  The nine-footer can sometimes leave a bad taste in your mouth.  

Oh...  That was bad.  Bad Dan!  Bad...  bad... bad...  

tenyearnap said...

Um Dan...ewwww. (shudder)