My mom has this habit of saying one word when she means another. It gets pretty bad when she has a lot on her mind. Like, she’ll ask me to pass the pepper when she means the salt. Usually it’s not too bad and sort of cute, but yesterday it went a little too far.
When my dad had the blood clot in his leg last month, they did a heart catheterization to make sure it could pass through. They told us they found a lot of build-up so I should have seen this coming.
So yesterday morning, my mom calls me to tell me they were going to the hospital. “They’re doing tests to find a good vein.” (His veins are shrinking.)
“A vein for what?”
“For a heart transplant.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. They say it will prolong his life.” ??????
I was AT WORK at the time, so I chugged about 4 mugs of chamomille tea and managed to keep my shit together, which I’m pretty proud of. Then I went home and called a few friends for life, like Liz and Ty. They cheered me up like pros but eventually had to get off the phone. All of my in-town friends were busy, so I just sat at home and thought about it and sniffled.
FINALLY I felt upbeat enough to call my dad without blubbering and making him feel worse.
SIDENOTE: My dad has this awesome way of delivering bad news – just straight up and matter of fact. “I ate lunch. Then the dog died. Then I got the mail. La la la.” When 9/11 happened, he was the first person I called from London because I knew he would just tell it straight. “Oh, there was this plane. Then another plane. Then I made bacon! Bloobie bloo.”
So I call him and he answers the phone all sweet and happy, and I asked him how he was doing.
“Well, my heart is kind of messy.” (I LOVE HIM.)
“Yeah… so you’re getting a transplant?”
“Mom said they want to do a transplant?”
“Oh, no no no. A triple bypass. I have three clogged veins.”
“WHAT THE FFFF-”
“-hell. What the hell. I’ve been sitting here all day thinking you needed a transplant.”
“Oh gosh, no. Just a triple bypass.” (JUST A TRIPLE BYPASS.) “If it was a transplant I’d be scared, but I’m not scared of this.” (I LOVE HIM.)
So… crisis averted, for now. I told him he could have some of my veins because they’re starting to stick out like Madonna’s and it’s gross. But he needs his own. I hope they find one.
ANYWAY I have more pressing matters at hand. I came home from work today and THE BIGGEST WASP I HAVE EVER SEEN FLEW RIGHT BY MY FACE and GRAZED MY NOSE.
I opened the door and frantically ran in place, whimpering and praying that he would fly out on his own.
It flew over to Plantasia and sat in my pepper plant, probably plotting his attack. I called Jason and screamed at him to get wasp spray like a pregnant woman in search of ice cream. “JUST BRING IT TO MEEEE!!!” Then I danced around the kitchen going “aaaahhhhh” for about 5 minutes.
And then: he flew onto the window. So I grabbed a big bowl and clamped it over him.
And then: I realized I had nothing to put underneath the bowl. I was stuck at the window with him. And he was pissed.
I tried to take a picture of him actual size, but he was curled up in rage. I swear to god he was an inch and a half. Measure my pinkie next time you see me:
The door was still open on the other side of the appartment, so I pathetically said, “Hellooooo?” I stomped on the floor for a while, hoping my nosy neighbor (whom I adore) would come upstairs to check on me. I debated waving at the people in the condos next door but decided that would be creepy.
I stood holding a bowl to the window for a good ten minutes before I noticed an old newspaper on the shelf. I picked it up with my toes and slipped in underneath (going “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” the whole time). After ANOTHER ten minutes, I managed to tighten the paper around the giant bowl with my tiny hands. Then with a shriek, I used the force of gravity to knock him into the back of the bowl and swoop it all to the floor.
I slipped a sturdy Rolling Stone underneath. Then I did a nervous raindance around the bowl, too scared to pick it up again. Finally I did, and I threw a rock on top.
Now he is outside, waiting for me:
Here is why Jason is awesome: he brought home wasp spray AND big beers AND Totinos pizza AND signed us up for cheaper cable.
Bypass Schmypass. How long do you think it takes a wasp to suffocate?
Completely unrelated – this is without a doubt the best email I have ever written: