Watch Out

As I shirk my responsibilities at work (because it is Saturday, damnit. I want one day off.) . . . I have quite the adventurous morning.

First, the allergist. I got the nurse who hates life. Hates her job. Hates fat people. Hates me. Which was hilarious, now that I know that she is just like that. She likes her blood pressure cuffs to be very large, which leads to sighing on her part. (I don't know about you . . . but I think I have pretty regular sized arms . . . my butt is another story . . . ) She's a peach. Then the physician's assistant came in and admonished me not to "pick up rocks" in Arizona. Everything will be fine there, in terms of allergies, as long as I don't pick up any rocks. I had to ask for clarification. Are there allergens in the rocks? Is it like Hawaii and the goddess of fire will hunt you down and make your life miserable? What's with the tempting rocks?

"All the spiders stay under the rocks . . . well, spiders and bad things . . . like scorpions . . . all under the rocks. So if you pick them up, you might be in trouble."

Well . . . okay, then. No, touching the rocks.

The explanation came with a personal story, leading me to believe that the rock warning isn't all that creditable. Just because someone's mother stopped by the side of the road and picked up what she thought was a pretty rock and there happened to be a large spider on it . . . doesn't mean all rocks are dangerous. At least I don't think that logic works.

After the rock conversation, I decided to go get some french toast. Had the Saturday ad section of the paper, so coffee and some toast seemed the way to go. Found a small booth, even though it was Saturday morning. Cool. Except that I was next to two couples. I was unable to determine their age . . . couldn't tell if it was an "early bloom, early rot" situation, if if they were in their thirties . . . well, anyhow one of them had a "Holly wrestling" skull cap on and talked about wrestling. So maybe they were in high school? The wrestling guy proclaimed that he was still drunk. The two women hated everyone . . . "Why was he dancing with that skag? What happened to Eric, he was so cute. Now he's fat. See here on my phone? He was cute then. God, I hate that girl in the green sweater . . . " The other boy just talked about his food. He didn't understand what was taking so long (at this point, I didn't either . . . because I had no french toast) and he didn't even know what sunny-side up was, but he had ordered over easy. And what was the deal with his toast? He questioned his toast (as he was eating it) about six times.

They were gems. All four of them. And they have a better chance of reproducing than I have . . . leading me to the conclusion that the world may be doomed. Between that and the rocks.