“….oh, Hello Doctor, how are you? No, I haven’t been waiting all day next to the phone willing it to ring, because you know what they say about watched phones, right?

…uh, you never heard that one, did you, Doctor? Well, they never ring. Must’ve missed it during all of those years in medical school. Oh well. But now, either way here you are! Oh HOORAY! HOORAY for YOOOOOOUUUUUU, Dear Doctor!

…what kind of problem are you talking about, Doctor? The only problems I like are the ones that I don’t have to fix, you know.

…oh THAT kind of problem, huh Doctor, one of those pesky buggers that I DO have to fix. I hate those.

…well it can’t be nobody’s fault, you see Doctor, because I promise you although my blood is indeed amazing, it’s never been known to walk away from the lab before, and I PROMISE that I’ve had plenty of blood removed from my body before and none of it went missing. So somewhere this “missing” vial of blood has taken up residence. Probably messing with someone else’s not so fabulous blood. My blood can kick their blood’s ass, you see Doctor.

….I sure do hope that you don’t tell some lifelong Type 1 diabetic who was in for routine labs doesn’t get too comfortable with finding out that OOPS, you’re NOT a diabetic AFTERALL, but hey, your TSH sucks! Heh-heh. That’s SO not funny. But when I’m nervous, Doctor, I laugh. And now, I am full of The Nervous.

…but Doctor, you are aware that it’s taken you a week to “find out that my blood is missing,” and therefore not being properly tested. A week that I’ve been (not so) patiently waiting on bated breath. But I’m sure that doesn’t concern you in the least now, does it, Doctor?

…no, I know that you were on vacation. You see, though, that I was not. And last that I checked, The Doctor doesn’t run the tests on the blood. Some lab assistant in some distant lab does, right?

…I AM calm, Doctor, I AM.

…Why no! It would be NO PROBLEM AT ALL TO BRING MY 8 MONTH OLD TO THE PHLEBOTOMIST YET AGAIN. He LOVES it there, let me tell you. It’s on his list of favorite things to do, along with suppostories up the butt and getting circumsized!

….I’m not taking ANY tone with you, Doctor, I’m not. Well, maybe I am. But I’ve been full of The Nervous all day, crapping my sad little brains out and now you’re telling me that I need to wait even longer. Until Monday. In case you didn’t know this about me, I HATE WAITING.

….No, Doctor, I absolutely did not just mumble the phrase “Self-Medicate With A Martini.” I KNOW that the last thing that I should do when I’m upset is to have a drinky-poo.

…What’s that you hear, you’re asking me? That clinking noise in the background is NOT the sound of me calming my frazzled nerves with vodka. Or whiskey. It’s champagne. And we all know champagne doesn’t make a clinky noise. It makes a fizzy one.

….I did NOT just say “I’ll drink to you tonight, Dear Doctor.” I said “Alex smells like poo tonight, Herr Proctor.” No I am NOT slurring my words. I call the ……cat yeah, the CAT, “Herr Proctor” sometimes. He likes it.

….Yes, Doctor, I am aware that this is a terrible nickname for a cat. But are you REALLY in a position to be all judge-y towards me right now?

…okay, Doctor, I’m off to the lab again. AGAIN. We’ll be in touch. Have no fear, WE WILL BE IN TOUCH, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. I CAN FIND OUT WHERE YOU LIVE.”

(click)

*headdesk*

(I suppose that I should just be relieved that it wasn’t the Bucket ‘O’ Poo that got lost, huh? I only wish that cheered me up right now.)