Yesterday at work I had to fast till my blood test at 10:10. No human has had to endure more torment. How is it a clock can move so slowly? Oh, I was hungry. Seriously. Kwashiorkor was setting in. Sally Struthers was next to me, doing a commercial about me.
The whole workplace was doing the test. I mean, you didn't HAVE to do it, it was voluntary, but you get cheaper health insurance if you do it, so most of us were. And the other smart people scheduled their tests for, you know, 8:30 or 9:00. Why did I wait till 10:10? Why? Why do I not think?
By the time 10:00 rolled around and I had to go to the testing place next door to work, I crawled over like one of those people in the desert looking for water. And was there a LINE by that time? A LINE. Like we were waiting to go on a ride at Cedar Point. And I like how my example is always Cedar Point as opposed to Disneyland or some other amusement park. Hey. I grew up in the Midwest.
There were orange juice and Nutri-Grain bars for the people–the lucky, lucky people–who were finishing their test, and words cannot describe the lust and envy I had when I watched those people emerge and have some juice. If I could've crawled into their gullets, I would've. Others in line were chatting. One person was talking at the top of her lungs about her medical issues, and how she hates blood tests, and frankly making everyone else a little nervous.
I was speaking to no one. Because at this point I was so food-deprived that I had zero personality left. I was like one of those Macy's floats that had all the air taken from it. I just stood and stared at the ground like I had some kind of disorder.
Finally, FINALLY, it was my turn, and the very nice nurse weighed me (oy), took my measurements (they had to get an extender), and then drained the blood from my body. When I left, I ate a blueberry Nutri-Grain bar the same way Tallulah would have. As in, one bite without tasting it.
I would make a terrible anorexic person, apparently. I have a friend who used to be anorexic, and she told me all about how she ate precisely the same number of calories each day (if I recall, 250) and how she'd go to bed and listen to her stomach rumble. On night one of that I'd be all, "I'm getting up and toasting a bagel."
This is not to say that I have been stable and normal my whole life. See: hypochondria. See: barf phobia. See: panic attacks. I just never got the anorexia gene, apparently.
In other news, now that I've eaten and can think beyond the Nutri-Grain, my lip gloss is here. I got this on Amazon when I was ordering Gentle Leaders for the dogs. As I was checking out, Amazon said, "People who order Gentle Leaders also get this:
Please also note my gel manicure. On week two and going strong.
I guess that's all I have to tell you. Other than the part where the Real Housewives reunion was so worth my wait. Waiting till 9:00 last night was almost as hard as waiting for 10:10 yesterday morning. And now I have to wait for NEXT week for part two. I could watch the Real Housewives every day and never grow bored. Yes, I am deeply intellectual.
Okay. Going to shower and then be late for work because I am playing with Bobbi Brown. BOBBAYY!