Happy Friday Eve, awesome readers!
To put this post into context, here’s a conversation between Greg and I (uncensored because what fun would that be?) …
Me: I think I have kneecap cancer.
Me: What do you mean “yup”. This could be SERIOUS.
Greg: Just like your eyeball cancer, lip cancer, and pinkie toe cancer, this too will pass. Do you even listen to yourself?
Me: Why would I listen to myself? That would be like talking to myself. Everybody knows that only creepy people talk to themselves.
Me: I HATE IT WHEN YOU END A CONVERSATION WITH “YUP”.
Greg: You DO talk to yourself.
Me: Only when I’m writing. I have to. I need to hear how things sound out loud.
At this point I just walked away from the conversation. Now that you have a little bit of background on my current ailment – my kneecap cancer – I need you to know, awesome readers, that this excruciating knee pain has NOTHING to do with my age. I know this because I’ve been having on-again/off-again knee pain since I was in my 20s. (Which is almost like saying that I had knee pain last year. In a 25th-Anniversary-of-my-25th-Birthday kind of way.)
Then last night while I was hopping around my mother’s house like a drunken kangaroo (I was NOT drinking at the time. Almost.), my mother gave me some spray stuff.
My mom: Here, dear. This will help your arthritis.
Me: I DON’T HAVE ARTHRITIS. OLD PEOPLE HAVE ARTHRITIS.
At which point I walked away from that conversation too. (In a hobbled kind of way.)
I can’t really tell you the name of the “stuff” my mom gave me. Mostly because I don’t remember what it’s called but also because it didn’t work and I don’t want you to spend your money on a product that doesn’t work. Unless if your intention is to smell like an old person. Then it totally works.