This morning, Marvin was whistling in the shower.
Mr. Bluebird on His Shoulder, over there, has offered to stay here for as long as it takes for me to recover from whatever surgery I may need for whatever is up there residing in my fanny pack, but I am thinking this is a bad idea.
I mean, he is just trying to do the decent thing, which is not leave a person when they are facing major surgery. But when he said he'd stay, my thought was, Maybe he still likes me. Maybe he's saying he'll stay because he secretly doesn't really want to leave. Maybe this is just an excuse to not go.
But because I am filled with pride and not at all pathetic, what I said was, "Are you offering to stay because you still like me and and you secretly don't want to go?"
Marvin looked at me like I was, you know, pathetic. "You shouldn't ask questions like that," he said. "You'll just make yourself feel bad."
Don't you hate it when people say things like that? They're trying to be kind but somehow it makes you feel 10 times worse.
So anyway, there are many people who can take care of me should I be gutted like a turkey, and I told Marvin to please hurry this hideous procedure along so I can stop hoping he'll look at me and think, "What a fine figure of a woman. How can I leave that brick house?"
He filled out his application for his Mr. Furley bachelor pad, and thinks he can probably move in on April 1. Which is ironic, because April 1 is my favorite holiday. It would be the day I'd be calling people to say Marvin moved out as a funny funny joke, and now this year I'll have to call people to say, "Marvin didn't go!" and then be all, "Psych!"
Every evening on March 31, the loved ones of my acquaintances warn my people that the next day is April Fool's Day and that I will be calling. You have no idea how many of my friends and relatives say, "I'd never have remembered you were gonna fool me, but Abner warned me today is April 1."
To the loved ones of my people? I say shut up. SHUT UP. It's my DAY. Can I just have my DAY? Can you just let me FOOL your PEOPLE? Is it really the end of the world if I fool them for five minutes of their life? GOD.
In the meantime, tonight I am going to Jazzercise with my friend Hammy. Because apparently it is 1980. Hammy loves her the Jazzercise; she even has a bumper sticker on her car that reads (are you ready?) "Jazzercise," and I do have to say Hammy looks good. Tonight you can bring a friend for free.
I just had a brilliant idea. The day yawns before me with nothing to do but Google "Is it a fibroid or uterine cancer?" which I have Googled till the cows come home already. What I can do instead is go around to all the thrift shops and fashion an absolutely perfect Olivia Newton-John Let's Get Physical 1980 Jazzercise outfit.
I already have the hair. Not only will I find the perfect leg warmers and headband, I'm going to be sure to stand in the doorway of Jazzercise and yell, "HAMMY!!" so that everyone knows she's with me. With my pants-free self.
Where am I gonna find a June Gardens-John shirt?
Okay, so I have a goal. And by the way, thanks to everyone who put tips in my tip jar. I feel slimy having it, but you have lightened my load considerably about how in the Sam Hill Ima pay my deductible for that stupid MRI. It had better be the most enjoyable MRI ever in the history of time. Barry Gibb had better have taken on a new career as an MRI technician. Is what I am saying to you.
Okay, really going. To get my cranberry tights.