Jul 12, 2011

Tales from the RE's office.

Setting: A small waiting room with 12 or so chairs and a receptionist on the other side of a thin plastic window. 

We were waiting for our appointment for our first follie check. I was playing Angry Birds and killing those little green dudes (are they pigs? I never watched the intro or read the directions, obviously). Mr. Slick was leafing through a copy of Time magazine as two other couples sat nearby. 

Suddenly he closes the magazine and leans toward me and whispers in my right ear, "I'm sorry."

I look to him and say, "Sorry for wha..." And it hits me. That invisible cloud of death. 

I suppress a cough as Mr. Slick turns a lovely shade of pink. The next thing out of my mouth I couldn't suppress, a giggle. Oh lord, I have the giggles. And now he has the giggles. 

I glance around at the other couples and no one makes eye contact. One lady moves her magazine up to hide her face. Oh goodness, will these giggles ever stop? There's NO way these people don't smell this by now. 

And then? Our redemption. A nurse opens the door and whisks us away for blood work and a follie check. I have never been more excited to lose blood. 

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