March 22, 2004
MALADIES
Timing is everything, they say, and my squad has the timing of a metronome with a sproinged spring.
The Bride is laid up with a torn knee ligament, identity witheld pending notification of MRI, Elder Child has had a recurrence of the Dread Kidneystones. Skeeter is healthy so far, but I expect her to come up with something esoteric like whooping cough, and I shall succumb to hives (I've noticed abnormal striations).
Because I don't need this shit this week, of all weeks, and The Creator takes great pleasure in my discomfiture, as payback for earlier oaths, ill-considered. Of course, I'm not the one in pain here, yet, so I'm being the good Reginald VelJohnson, and chauffering my injured lambs to the vet doctor.
I'm also expecting my houseguest, a week overdue, but that will materialize when it does.
Am I turning into a Grumpy Old Man? Perish the thought. I've been a grumpy old man since I was eight years old.