More Questions to Ponder

This is going around the Internet and my cousin sent it to me. I love these questions. If you have some witty answers, let me know.

If you have sex with a prostitute against her will, is it considered rape or shoplifting?

Can you cry under water?

How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

Why do you have to "put your two cents in"... but it's only a "penny for your thoughts"? Where's that extra penny going to?

Once you're in heaven, do you get stuck wearing the clothes you were buried in for eternity?

Why does a round pizza come in a square box?

What disease did cured ham actually have?

How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on luggage?

Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies wake up like every two hours?

If a deaf person has to go to court, is it still called a hearing?

Why are you IN a movie, but you're ON TV?

Why do people pay to go up tall buildings and then put money in binoculars to look at things on the ground?

Why do doctors leave the room while you change? They're going to see you naked anyway.

Why is "bra" singular and "panties" plural?

Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp, which no decent human being would eat?

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a stupid song about him?

Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the carpool lane ?

Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours? They're both dogs!

If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all that ACME crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?

If corn oil is made from corn, and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, what is baby oil made from?

If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?

Why do the Alphabet song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?

Why did you just try singing the two songs above?

Why do they call it an asteroid when it's outside the hemisphere, but call it a hemorrhoid when it's in your butt?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him for a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

A Doctor in the House

We've had a few brave visitors during the husband's surgery incarceration. Last night, I came out of another room to find our doctor in the kitchen. (Not the surgeon, the internist.) And to think there are people who don't believe in answered prayers.

Since I don't have "M.D." after my name, my opinions about medical and surgical expectations are met with a certain amount of skepticism. It's nice to have some back up.

Plus, the golf talk was a great distraction and I'm not good at it.

Having a Spell

Last week, I met with several friends -- the workout girls. We were celebrating three birthdays and catching up on the various things in our lives. Just because my oldies are gone doesn't mean I'm not in touch with Oldieville. Some are facing surgery, some are hanging on in homes, some are waiting for the next shoe to drop. I look around at this girlfriend group and I'm certain they are willing to pick up the pieces.

We're all good friends, good daughters, good wives, good mothers/stepmothers. We all put on the chameleon suit and rise to the occasion. I looked around the table and realized that all of these women spend their days asking clients, friends, children, parents and friends: "What do you need; how can I help?" Then, she digs in and does it.

Big Sal's husband was hospitalized. Our doctor (saint-in-training) ran a battery of tests. He's probably healthier than 90 percent of the population.

She called us and said, "Pour me a margarita. He's just having a spell."

Smart women know when to stop coddling. They know when the coast is clear, your best course of action might be some laughter and a margarita with some friends.

Drunk on Air

My father and I used to have dates to go out to dinner. For the last few weeks, our dates have been going to the doctor. He had sinus surgery last week and we were all anxious to know the results.

I tagged along for my father's post-surgery appointment. In the parking lot, he commented that he was almost light-headed. With open nasal passages and sinuses, breathing is a whole new experience.

He said, "If this is what breathing is supposed to feel like, I don't know what I've been doing all these years."

"We're Your Oldies Now."

My father had surgery this morning. He is fine...resting uncomfortably and probably trying to figure out how he let his daughter get him into this situation.

For a surgery day, we had lots of laughs. My mother and I teased my father about his cute gown and hair bonnet. When he was registering for surgery, he went up alone. Oh no -- not going to happen. I tagged along. (Secretly, I think he likes it when I do that.)

During his surgery, my mother and I tried to distract ourselves. We both did the crossword puzzle.

I listened for our name. If someone came in and said, "Riley," I jumped to my feet and said, "Here!" (I would've been great in the military.)

After surgery, the doctor met with us. "Do you have any questions?" is the standard question. My mother had none. I had several.

My parents are not old and they are extremely self-sufficient. But I like to tease them. I told my mother that they'd still be waiting around for someone to call them. She laughed and said, "We're your oldies now."

Not true. But, they have been very accommodating of my quirks. They let me lurk and listen. They let me say, "No, we're going to do it another way."

We did have a little battle in the surgery prep room. Sinus surgery involves several days of breathing only through the mouth. No bending, no stress on the face, no blood rushing to your head. My mother and I decided to exchange words about whether or not the dogs could sleep with them for the next three days. Guess what? "No!" This provided a lot of amusement for my father and if I find out she let those dogs in bed, I will kidnap him and bring him here.

The Boys

I have lots of boys in my life. Okay, most of them are grown men but I think of them as "my boys." The top three are the husband, my father and the baby. Houseboy (a nickname he tolerates) is one of my boys. So are my uncles and many of my friends. They advise me and make me laugh.

Today I accompanied two of my boys to the doctor. By some fluke, they had back-to-back appointments. I was invited to one and barged my way into the second. Intrusive people know that they are annoying but we can't help ourselves. I need to hear the information first hand. I need to see the scans and have the doctor explain it to me like I'm a 5-year old.

I've got to keep my boys healthy. There are some surgeries in our future but they're relatively minor. When I dropped in on the husband's visit, he said, "Who invited you?" I planted myself in a chair.

Second Opinions

Anger is not a bad thing. Sometimes it spurs you into action.

You know, anger is an alternate of scared. It's the same emotion, just spun in a different direction.

My doctor (saint-in-training) welcomes second opinions. He often refers us to someone else with additional expertise in a particular area. Depending what ailment was plaguing the oldies, he would make sure we saw the right person.

My computer guy welcomes another opinion. Houseboy does not get offended if I call in someone else for a tree problem. When Dr. Gwen was my minister, she often encouraged me to talk to another minister for guidance.

People who are secure do not get offended when someone requests a second opinion. If my attorney didn't feel comfortable with a second opinion, I'd get mighty suspicious.

I'm pushy and often overstep my boundaries. If I love you, you need to accept this about me. I'm forcing someone I love to get a second opinion. When I hear, "Well, I don't want to offend Dr. So and So...." I want to scream.

Instead, I make the appointment anyway. They can get mad at me later.

Independence Day

Today is the 4th of July. Along with the BBQs and parties, I try to respect the history of this holiday. I cry easily and patriotic songs can make me weep. It's therapeutic and it reminds me of the many things I should be grateful for. In case I'm not feeling mushy enough, I like to remind myself:

There are millions of people in this country, let alone the world, who do not have enough to eat.
There are women who give birth and watch their babies die due to lack of food or medicine.
People live under bridges and overpasses. I have a roof over my head.
Diseases can rum rampant and many millions of people have no access to health care. I have my doctor on speed dial.

There's an old saying: "You come into this world alone and you leave it alone." I don't find it true. If you're lucky, as I am, you get some pretty great parents who you meet right out of the birth canal. I've watched my mother hold lots of parents' hands when it was their time to go. They may have made the journey alone but someone was right there at the beginning and the end.

I used to think of myself as independent. I'm not. Oh, I could make it on my own but I like the dependence on my friends and family. I'm even dependent on the maniac dog -- I'm guaranteed a laugh.

I'm trying to find the balance.

Dressing for the Doc

I am compulsively on time for most meetings. Usually, I'm early. It shows a respect for the other person's time and it gives me time to freak out.

I had a doctor's appt. this morning and I was so early that I had time to kill. I try to do cosmetics and dress appropriately for clients and friends but I do not dress for my doctors. Dermatology is all about seeing your skin in its natural state. So, clean face and no make-up. I sat in my car and was cracking myself up remembering the many times I helped the Belle dress for various medical appointments. I was constantly griping, "Why are we doing this? You're just going to have to take all of this off." She made Hangdog wear a tie for a doctor's visit. I wear jeans or sweats.

I do not wear slips and girdles. I rarely wear pantyhose. I like some fun tights in the winter but that's about it. My docs know to expect me "as is."

The Poster Child for Good Behavior

Obviously, I am not referring to myself.

I get a little nervous when someone I love has a doctor's appointment or medical tests. Within the last 10 days or so, my father has had both. Both days, I waited for the phone call so I could exhale. Thankfully, all is well.

His doctor called him, "The Poster Child for Good Behavior." He follows instructions and manages his conditions. He manages to do it cheerfully, although he has made many lifestyle changes that would shake or break a weaker man.

Yes, this is blatant daughter worship.

When I had lunch with my doctor this week, I had a cheeseburger and onion rings. He made a crack about keeping him in business. But this is the man who literally has all my numbers (cholesterol, weight, etc.) so he said it with a smile.

Today I will visit Hangdog, who is not even in the running for Poster Child for Good Behavior. Then I will go to my parents and visit people I don't spend enough time with. Maybe my father will rub off on me and I'll start being better behaved.

Out to Lunch

Today, I am going out to lunch. I'm meeting a friend who will advise me about a couple of things and then she will admonish me. Then she will help me, as she always does.

Yesterday, I went out to lunch. I tried to visit Hangdog in the hospital but he had been taken for a test. My doctor (saint-in-training) and his wife took me to lunch. (Why don't they run when they see me coming?) I want to say to them, "Run Fast! Run Like the Wind!" But instead, they are kind.

Hangdog told my mother that most of my visits only last 5 minutes. He does not count the times he's sleeping. He does not count the times I am crawling in bed with him or waiting for him from the bathroom or tests. He doesn't count the phone calls.

I've been accused of being mentally "Out to Lunch" on numerous occasions. Guilty as charged.

He's Got My Number

Hangdog is being transported from one hospital, where he checked out ok, to the VA hospital for the necessary evaluation before he can go back to the Home.

I answered the phone a few minutes ago and it was an EMT, traveling with my father-in-law in an ambulance. Pop needed to talk to me. The EMT is probably taking an oxygen moment. Good plan.

A while ago, I made these big flash cards for him with phone numbers. I forgot the engineering mind and the memory ability.

Meanwhile, the husband is pacing the VA facility. I've let him know that his father is safe and on the way.

The doctors call our home, our various cell phones, etc. We are well informed. Pop has memorized a couple of numbers. Unless he's hampered by a medical situation, I know the numbers he will call.

Handwriting

The husband should have been a doctor. Not because he's educated in medical things... simply because I cannot read his handwriting. We're writing the obit and making hundreds of phone calls. He keeps leaving information for me and I want to scream, "I can't read it!" (Of course, I do not act on this instinct.)

My handwriting is extrememly legible. I credit that to my parents who used to make me rewrite my homework so it was neat and tidy.

Nothing else in my life is neat and tidy at the moment.

Driver's License

Do you remember passing the test and getting your driver's licence? I do. But even more so, I remember when Jan got hers. Who cares who is driving? One of us had the freedom and flexibility to take on the world.

This is the way the doctor explained the oldie's situation to me. (Remember, he has been instructed by me to speak to me like I'm a 5-year old.) "This is the antithesis of the day you get your driver's license. That day represents an open world, open choices, everything is an option. The day you go into (or are put into) a Home, it is the complete full circle. Your options are narrowing. The road is limited. You are no longer in the driver's seat."

I could use some military training. Both Hangdog and Big Daddy are keeping a stiff upper lip. I'm still spending a lot of time on the dog's pillow.

Eavesdropping

Yep, I'm in my little office and the oldies are in the kitchen having their breakfast. The Today Show is on in both rooms. On the television, someone is skating on the Rockefeller Center rink. I just heard the mother-in-law say, "I wish I could skate like that."

Hello! You're still bouncing off walls. By the way, this is not a creative expression. It is an entirely accurate and scary description.

The oldies are supposed to see the doctor today and the husband is coming home mid-day to take them. She doesn't want to go. There was some discussion/disagreement this morning about whether or not she will go. I left the room thinking, Leave Me Out of It. Now I heard her say to her husband, "I know Sheri talked to the doctor but he hasn't called ME. That's not my kind of doctor."

Hello! You went three days without the ability to put together a coherent sentence. I have talked to the doctor. The husband has talked to the doctor repeatedly.

If I had to make a bet, I'd say the odds are 50-50. The husband can be pretty forceful but she can dig in her heels with the best of them.

She'll get over being miffed with the doctor; she adores him.

I'm skating a line here too. I try to balance honesty with humane treatment. There is no reason to tell her every detail of the last few days because she would only be hurt and humiliated. On the other hand, her irrational irritation with the doctor (or the husband) makes me want to sit her down and give her the blow-by-blow.

I know why she's avoiding the doctor. She's afraid he'll want to admit her into the hospital. I should go in her place. I could ask to be committed to a mental hospital. Instead, I'll stick it out. I don't think they'd let me take the husband or my dog.

Lucky Ducks

We made an impromptu run to the doctor today. (All is fine.) It's a beautiful day so I took the longer, more scenic route home.

As we drove by the canal, the mother-in-law commented to me, "I've noticed that your ducks are not nearly as sexually active as the ones at The Peabody in Memphis."

I almost wrecked the car. I'm going to have to ponder this for a while.

Here She Comes Again

We went to a party the other night. I had a question for my dermatologist. So I worked the room until I could get her alone and say, "Am I candidate for XXX?" She pulled me into a corner and gave me her opinion.

Earlier that week, I had a legal question about the oldies. I ran into an attorney and later a judge that I know. I asked them both.

Sometimes I meet the husband at the club for dinner. He is often playing cards with my Internist. He treats the oldies too so I can ask my questions.

There have been homes I'm curious about. I have friends who are Realtors. They look up the stats and even take me through them, knowing full well that I have no intention of buying.

I try to return the favor. If someone asks my opinion about their writing or a marketing project (especially if they have my medical or legal records,) I am there.

Still, I wonder. When I walk in a room, do these people think, "Oh no, here she comes again."

Without A Net

I like knowing how to reach people. I can become a little obsessive.

When the oldies are here, I call my/our doctor at least twice a week. (He tolerates me.)

I don't have a lot of legal issues but I like knowing that I can walk next door and get my attorney's advice.

The husband is my sounding board and my touchstone. I need his opinion, even if I don't agree.

The husband is on a trip this week. I have no problem with that. But, he's going with my doctor and my attorney. Some business; some golf.

You know how the president and the vice president are not allowed to travel together? Heirs to the throne are not allowed to be on the same plane (although Princess Diana broke this rule.)

I don't think the husband, my attorney and my physician should leave me like this. The oldies will roll in and I'll be left without my support network.

But, I have faith. If disaster strikes, the girlfriends will save me.

The good news is I have ALL of their cell phone numbers.

'Fraidy Cat

I pretend to be brave but I'm not. Little things can send me over the edge. Before my mother and I went to the fair, there was a bird in my garage. Remember, I hate birds. He was confused and trying to fly out the window so that resulted in bashing his head and flopping. I had a broom but every time I got close to him, I squealed and ran. Thankfully, my mother showed up and batted him out.

We spotted a mouse in the house. (We live in a wooded area and the oldies tend to leave doors open.) Everyone was very nonchalant about traps, sticky stuff, etc. I kept my feet off the floor and called houseboy.

About a year and a half ago, the oldies had a double fall. They collided, which resulted in him face down in the kitchen and her with a massive head wound after hitting the corner of the piano. The husband was in bed. I ran in our bedroom and yelled, "911! Both oldies down!"

With surgeries or even routine tests, I become a maniac. It's a little embarrassing because most of my doctors are also my friends. I had a biopsy a few months ago -- it was fine -- and I finally asked the doctor to put a towel over my head. She laughed and complied. Of course, my mother was sitting in the waiting room.

The husband bails me out of trouble on a regular basis. He knows my quirks and humors me.

When I'm really a 'fraidy cat, I call my dad.

How Much Do You Weigh?

There are certain questions that are not polite to ask. At least, that's what I was taught. Politics and religion are tricky topics. "How old are you?" used to be taboo but that seems to have changed. I'll give you my opinion on current political situations. I'm anxious to hear what others think. I'll tell you my religious affiliation and I love a respectful debate. For years I was coy about my age but I'm over that now. If you ask, I tell the truth.

I won't tell my weight.

When my "sister" was 2-years old, she told anyone and everyone within shouting distance that she weighed 28 lbs. The baby used to tell everyone his weight. I guess we pay so much attention to height and weight charts when they're children, it's natural for them to be fascinated with these numbers.

There's a scale in my bathroom. The husband gets on it every day. Occasionally, he tells me the number. I rarely step on it. I know where I am by how my clothes fit. Sometimes I put my luggage on it to make sure I won't be charged for a bag that weighs more than 50 lbs. I've put the dog on it. Other than that, it's just one more thing I trip over as I stumble to the shower.

Sometimes the workout girls discuss weight. It's usually vague comments, "I feel fat," etc. (There is not a fat person in the room.) Rarely are numbers thrown around. I'm in safe territory because if someone asks me, I can honestly say I don't know.

I went to the doctor yesterday for myself and the oldies. The first thing they do is put you on that huge, ominous scale. Then, THEY WRITE IT DOWN! Another quirk, but this is not fun for me. Thankfully, my doctor is an honorable guy and a great friend. I'm fascinated with numbers but this number will remain our secret.