Wow! THAT hurts.
I went today for my post-winter leg waxing--time to trim the hedges, cut back the grass, take off the winter fur. As always, it was rather unpleasant. My mom called me as I was having the hair ripped out of my calves, so you can only imagine how attentive I was.
Me: Hello AHH?
Mom: Hey Tra, what are you doing?
Me: WAAHxing. AH!!
Mom: Does it hurt?
Mom: You want me to let you go?
Mom: Well, I'm going to look for paint for the living room today. Any suggestions?
Me: AAAHHHH! AH!!
Mom: I'll call you back later babe.
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAHHH k. SorryyyyAAAAH.
Mom: That's ok! Love you.
I don't have to tell you that those weren't sighs of relaxation. What actually precipitated this self-torture was not the encroaching swimsuit season, but a little visit that I have make to the hospital to have some hopefully competent Italian doctor explore my stomach with a camera tomorrow (Thurs). I didn't want to confuse anyone. I thought it was better to get rid of my monkey legs rather than have the nurse mistake me for a hairy Mediterranean man and proceed to examine my testicles.
Anyway, I might not be in tomorrow, but I have a fabulous excuse. I am sure that the prognosis will be good and since I will have to starve between now (12:00a.m.) and tomorrow morning, they will likely find that the only thing threatening my health is mortal hunger.