Bad to Worse

The universe was talking to me yesterday before I even rolled my dimpled arse out of bed. It was saying, "Don't do it, T. Stay in bed."

I, of course, was not listening. I was jonesing for coffee and wondering how I could lure my husband back home so I wouldn't have to be the one to referee Fric and Frac first thing in the morning as they argued over socks.

Because I wasn't listening, the universe decided to send me a clear message. Namely, by having my dog's claws snag my boob jewelry as he raced to fetch a teddy bear thereby stretching out my left McGuffy until the boob gave up, cried for mercy and rolled under the bed for sanctuary.

Gathering my stretched and sore appendage to my chest and vowing to switch from hoops to barbells, I made my way to the kitchen, dreaming of a dog with no legs. Where I promptly stubbed my toe on the birdcage, dropped wet coffee grinds onto the floor and discovered there was no creamer for my coffee.

Still, I ignored the Universe and my cozy warm bed and plundered on with my day. When my lovely daughter reminded me I was supposed to be fasting for a medical appointment and was not supposed to have any coffee, I should have just given up and crawled back into bed.

A morning with out coffee is akin to hell. Still, I persevered. Because I am the picture of optimism. The day can only get better I figured, as I whistled a snappy tune and hopped into the shower, smiling with possibilities.

Okay, no I didn't. I moaned that God, Himself was out to get me and then cursed a blue streak so creative my son high-fived me and then immediately committed said cusses to memory so as to be able to repeat them on the playground as I stomped into the bathroom.

I made a promise to Boo that I wouldn't put my health on a back burner any longer so I sucked my shitty start to the day up, shoved my legs into the only pair of jeans that haven't split down the middle when I bend over still fit and then hopped up and down as I tried to button the buggers up. You know the dance of which I speak. The one where you are valiantly trying to squeeze that roll of flab into a pair of too-small pants while looking like you are having epileptic fits to music only dogs can hear. Ya, that's the one.

Then I promptly unbuttoned the little buggers when I got in my car to drive to town. It was either do that or to hold my breath as I drove 35 km to the lab.

When I walked into the rural hospital where the lab was, I glanced around to see how many old people were milling about. Old people equal longer wait times which equals an even bitchier, annoyed Tanis who is in desperate need of caffeination.

Not a blue-haired person to be seen so I started visualizing the steaming hot cup of coffee I was soon to be swallowing. I handed my lab papers to the receptionist whose cup of coffee sat before me and mocked me with it's tantalizing aroma and sat down to wait as she found someone to stab me with a sharp pointy stick. Er, needle.

I've been poked before, many times. Once, when I was really sick and the docs feared my appendix had ruptured they ended up poking me 27 times before finally finding a vein in my ankle. Good times. I've harboured a healthy fear of needles ever since. So picture me sitting in the waiting room, salivating over the scent of badly brewed hospital coffee wafting through the air, beads of sweat springing out on my brow and twitching slightly with nerves.

It was right about then a light shone down from the heavens above and angels started singing. Brad Pitt stood before me.

Well, okay, not Mr. Pitt, but surely his doppelganger. The best looking man I have ever seen in my life walked towards me. He was perfection personified.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you're drooling," he said as he offered me a tissue. Dear Lawd, he had an Aussie accent. Could he be any more perfect, I pondered as he stared at me and wondered if I was mentally disabled.

"Ma'am? Are you Tanis?" he repeated.

Snapping out of it and realizing he was not only talking to me but he looked a little worried that I was about to strip him naked and jump him. I pulled myself together, shut my mouth, wiped my drool and tried to act cool. Because drool is cool.

"Um, yes," I stammered. His muscles rippled like a caged tiger as he walked. It was all I could do to reach out and pat his arse to see if it was made of stone.

"Here. Pee in this," he said as he handed me a plastic cup. How sexy. As I blushed three shades red, I rushed off to escape my own idiotic behaviour and get a grip.

It was right about then that I realized there was no way I could squeeze out any urine. I had fasted for 13 hours. I was dehydrated. But there was no way I was going out there and announcing to that handsome hunk of a man I couldn't pee on command. So I sat there and thought of Niagra Falls, visualizing the rushing waters of Nature.

Three drops later, I figured that was as good as it was going to get and put the cup in the little box, hoping he wouldn't check it until I was well the hell out of Dodge.

Wrestling with my jeans again, I ignored my reflection in the mirror because after the drool there was no way this man would ever find me attractive so I may as well just accept defeat, and I made my way back to the chair to commence with the poking.

As he pulled up my sleeves and eyed my veins, we chatted about the weather, about his accent and about small towns in general. I tried to ignore the fact he was getting ready to stab me and make off with my blood like a vampire. I focused on how beautiful this man was, on how lucky I was to be married to a slightly less beautiful man, on how there was a spider hanging from the web in the corner. Anything except the sharp pointy needle he had just picked up and was pointing at me.

He looked up at me then and noticed I was sweating profusely a little nervous and asked if I was afraid of needles.

"No, no. I just get nervous when a good looking man pokes me with out any foreplay," I stammered.

"I'll try and be gentle," he reassured me as he wished I would just shut my freaking mouth already.

"No, no, I like it rough." Shut UP TANIS!!! Oh look, I'm a drooling twit who can fit BOTH feet in her mouth. It was a puzzle why he wasn't offering to be my love slave for life.

He raised his eyebrow, chuckled and then shoved the needle in.

That's all I remember.

Until I woke up on the floor.

Ya. I fainted. At the feet of the good-looking nurse. As he was stealing my blood. And thinking what a damn dork I was.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked as he patted my back and handed me a glass of juice.

Um, ya. I'm fabulous. Not mortified at all. I just passed out suddenly and the world's hottest nurse keeps calling me ma'am. Could life get any freaking better? I looked down, expecting to see a needle still stuck in my arm, but there was nothing there.

"Don't worry, you fainted as I was pulling the needle out. I got all the blood required to test you for that geeky gene you must surely have inherited."

"Goody. I'm awfully sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't normally fall at the feet of gorgeous men. I like being stabbed, I'm generally a vampire's wet dream," I blathered as I stuffed myself into my coat and tried not to make eye contact with McSteamy.

"Well, it could have been worse. At least you didn't pee when you fainted," he joked as he twirled around my near empty pee cup.

Ya. Thank God for small miracles.

I really should have listened to the Universe when it spoke. This'll teach me.