Okay, I’m leaving martial arts yesterday and I phone my girlfriend to pick her up. She seemed kind of distressed, but at the same time laughing as though there was something she didn’t want to tell me. I’ve heard this voice from women on various occassions, from my stereo getting broken to someone being taken to the hospital for choking while trying to deepthroat a peeled banana. It’s the “I did something stupid but I’m not out of the water yet” voice.
Said she, “Jason, I lost my tampon.”
Said me, “Try to retrace your steps.”
Said she, “No, you’re not understanding.”
Said me, “It’s always in the last place you look.”
Said she, “You’re not even taking this seriously!”
Then it dawned on me just what the problem was, which I thought was super because I had spent most of the day annoyed with her. So I started laughing and laughing and laughing.
Finally, me, “You did Yoga, didn’t you?”
Her, “Yeah. Why?”
Me, “That’s what always does it. People die from this all the time. It’s called Toxic Shock Syndrome.” (You have to know at this point that she, as a women studies student, taught me what TSS was.)
Her, terrified, “Are you serious?” (You have to understand that she is not an idiot, she is just really paranoid about medical emergencies with her body. It doesn’t help that she hates doctors.)
Me, “I’ll come over and see if I can fish it out.”
Her, “You can’t, I tried.”
Me, “My fingers are longer.”
Her, “I had my hand in up to the thumb.”
Me, “You fisted yourself?”
Her, “No! But it hurts now. I’ve been trying to do it for an hour or so.”
This is the point where things would get serious for me. I hate it when she does this. She’d cut off her leg instead of going to the hospital to get a deep splinter removed. I screamed at her for a bit.
Her, “Just get over here.”
Me, "I’m taking you to the hospital.
I picked her up.
Her, “What are you eating?”
Me, “Mmrphroni salad.”
Her, “You stopped at Safeway! I’m dying from a tampon and you stop at Safeway?”
Me, “I bought a chicken, too.”
So I drive her to the hospital, as she tells me, “I really didn’t want to go to the hospital. I was going to put another one in and forget about it, but this is my body.”
I stopped at a Tim Hortens drive-thru for some hot chocolate, which just seemed to agitate her. “Take me to the hospital! It’s having babies inside of me! You don’t think it can, but they do!”
Then we arrive at the hospital, where she sprints out and looks annoyed that I’m parking the car. It was a rough area and I didn’t want my chicken stolen, so I had to circle for a little while looking for a good place.
It was now nine o’clock at night. They told us it was a four hour wait. Fast forward eight hours, as I don’t want to relieve the personal misery or knifed gangmembers or assaulted women who made the wait that much more pleasant.
Finally, at four forty in the morning the doctor pries her open and says, “It’s not here. It must have fallen out when you went to the bathroom. It’s fairly common.” Now go home, you twat. (The last part was unspoken.)
My cold relapsed while we waited and my important plans for Saturday have pretty much been ruined, so she’s promised that next weekend will be my weekend and she’ll be my pleasure slave.
Just thought I’d share.
