You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Blog is About You

Unless you're Jeremy Renner, in which case this blog is, in fact, about you.

Older and Meaner

I was totally rude to a customer service guy on the phone just now and I don't even feel bad.  The older I get, the meaner I become, and the happier I am about it.  What is happening to me?  Back in the late 1900's, I was so nice.
Maybe it's because I've done my time BEING the customer service guy to whom customers are totally rude, so now it's my turn to be wicked.
Perhaps it's a rite of passage of being in my forties.  Is forties considered "middle-aged"?  I never really understood what "middle-aged" meant.  How do you know what middle age is when you don't know how old you'll be when you die?
I spent my twenties feeling as though I needed to prove myself to the world, but the world never seemed interested in my provement.  In my thirties I felt the only person to whom I needed to prove myself was myself.  Fortunately, it turns out I'm pretty easily impressed, so once I had reached my forties I liked me so much I quit needing to prove anything and my life got so rad.
Being a girl version of Jeremy Renner, however, is no reason to be poopy to customer service guys.  I should be ashamed.  I'm sorry, Customer Service Guy.

How We Rock Apple Blossom

Hunneypunkin was in pain and wanted me to fix it, but I suspected there was a gallbladder or appendix problem which is beyond my scope of practice, as is diagnosis, so I did the only thing I could do at a million o'clock: I went to sleep.  But when a billion o'clock rolled around, Hunneypunkin developed chills and tremors that shook me awake.  (Rude!  Also frightening.)  So I Googled his symptoms because THAT will alleviate your fears when it's dark outside.  I took a shower and told Hunneypunkin I was going to pack him a nice overnight bag and we were going to take a little ride to have some of his internal organs removed.  So he stayed in bed till his alarm clock started singing, and then he went to work.
Hunneypunkin came home not long past noon, napped around the house until the walk-in clinic was closed, and decided he should see a doctor after all because it's more fun to pay an emergency room bill.  Plus, this is Apple Blossom weekend, so driving into Wenatchee at thirteen yards-per-hour on Friday night is awesome.
The ER peeps were friendly.  Hunneypunkin got intravenous fluids and some pink smiley-face tape on his arm.  I got some apple juice and a heated blanket because I cease to produce my own blood sugar and body heat when I run on no sleep.  Doctor Niceness said Hunneypunkin had an infection of some sort but they would need to run some tests to know anything more.
Next a tiny Nazi woman with a tight little bun (in her hair I mean) entered the room to administer the WASL, MSP, SAT, and ACT.
This is admittedly the first time Hunneypunkin has ever been in public in his jammie pants, which was a little embarrassing at first but I was glad later because those hospital gowns don't want to stay closed in the back.  I had to beat several nurses off Hunneypunkin with a stick because in a hospital gown he looks like Jeremy Renner as Hawkeye the Avenger.
Ultimately we were sent home with the assurance that Hunneypunkin is likely to die from something not related to what he is currently experiencing, and probably a long time from now.  He's feeling a little slow today, but he's sort of up and around.  Which is good, because Saturday is Caramel Mocha Day, and if Hunneypunkin couldn't take me out for coffee, I'd have to go out with Fernando the Pool Guy, and I don't understand Spanish very well.
Next year I'm going to come up with a better idea for Apple Blossom weekend.