“If I could turn back time…I would be 29.”
– Carol Sloan (with special thanks to Cher)
1) Soon it will be my birthday I will be an age that has a three in it. Anyways, the getting old part didn’t really bother me until today. My mother called me to tell me that my father had to fill out some forms for his work (the emergency forms in case you choke on your egg salad at lunch and they need to tell your next of kin where to fetch your body) and in the Doctor spot he put their dogs Veterinarians name and phone number. My mother tried to correct his mistake but, he said to leave it, the vet would probably treat him better. So now, instead of putting him in an old folk’s home we’re going to take him for a “ride” down I-95.
And as a bonus, if he breaks a hip we can have him put to sleep all legal like. It’s not against the law for a vet to put something down, so why can’t he put Daddy down? So if this is what getting old (especially in my family) does to you, I want no part of it! Isn’t that a touching, true story, that makes you want to come over for Thanksgiving?
2) Oh yea and I think that I maybe a messenger of God! Why you ask?
Because I said so and it freaks people out when you say it… Actually, its because last Tuesday I got stuck in traffic and a kitten that some crazy ladies were chasing around on the side of the road ran up into my car’s wheel well and clung there (Eighty other cars there and it runs under my car). Of course I stopped the car (I would never intentionally run over a animal, people yes, animals no) and a crowd gathered around, including the whack-jobs that chased it there in the first place. As luck would have it, sitting near by in the Wendy’s drive thru line were two paramedics. Now you would think that they would make the situation better but NO! The one paramedic was just nasty about the whole thing – he said to me “ You’re blocking traffic” I asked, “what are you going to about it, call a cop? I am sure that a police officer will show up to write me a huge fine for refusing to run over a kitten, ass hole!”
When the future pizza deliveryman and I were trading barbs, one of the crazy cat lovers tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Do you have any gloves?” My reply was a simple “No, lady its August, what do I look like to you, a freak molester that wears gloves in the summer?” It was around that time that I looked down and saw a very large, and I MEAN LARGE, gentleman trying to wedge himself under my car (by the way, I drive a Ford Contour – not cause I want to – anyway there is not a lot of ground clearance for a three hundred pound man to wedge himself under my car).
This was it, I had had it, and I reached my hand into the wheel well to grab the cat and promptly got bit on my pinky. While the rabies began to course through my blood system, and the crowed gasped in horror, the one lady turned to the crowed and said, “ I told her that it was a biter.” The nasty paramedic grabbed his mace and the crazy ladies screamed, “NO, you’ll kill it!”
The crowed surged forward to await the macing of the kitten (by the way, don’t rush toward someone with mace, its just plan common sense, people.). Just then, the big man under the car got a hold on the kitten and pulled it out and threw it into the shoebox one of the crazy ladies was holding. I jumped in my car and took off, rushing to seek treatment for my bleeding finger.
It was during the drive that I got an idea, I knew paramedic that worked with these two guys. I called her later that night and relayed the story, she told me that the nasty paramedic was mean to everyone at work and we were going to fix him once and for all. When she went back on shift she told the nasty guy that I was the niece of the hospital Vice President and that my aunt was pissed by the treatment that I had received.
It was at that moment the nasty guy began to cry, he said, “I have been having a lot of personal problems and I didn’t mean to treat her badly. I will write her a letter of apology.” My friend, not being as cruel as I am, was touched by his story of despair and decided to tell him that a letter wasn’t necessary. He said, “ Thank you, please tell her I am so sorry for how I acted and I am going to seek the free counseling that they offer here at the hospital.”
See people; MESSENGER OF GOD! If the cat hadn’t run into my tire and I hadn’t told my friend about it, nasty guy wouldn’t be getting the help he clearly needed so badly. And I wouldn’t have been able to write this column, and still be able to hold on to my god complex.
Next Week: Hooty buys a pair of Jesus sandals and wonders her neighborhood preaching the 10 commandments (the Hooty version) and hoping that there isn’t really a God or she’s in deep shit.
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