We thought Grady broke his foot. Again. Never mind the communicable looking disease that was making it's way up his arm. When the triage nurse asked why we were there, we pointed to his foot. Then mentioned his arm. So which are you here for? She wanted to know. Well, the foot. And while we're here...could you check out the arm? We were those people. As always.
The kid hadn't bathed in nearly four days. Unless you count creek water. Which I do. His diet had consisted of Airheads, Sour Patch Kids, a case of soda, and some orange juice out of a wine glass.
Grady had to remove his pants for the x-ray. I cringed. I knew what was coming. Surprise! For them. Not for me. No underwear. Because not one kid in our family wears underwear. Not one. Ever. I made a rule that everyone wears underwear to school. But I forgot the rule a couple of days after I made it. Who can remember all these rules anyway. And alas, it wouldn't have helped. Preschool graduation was last week.
The foot wasn't broken. No one knew what the hell the rash was. Poisoning by sugar is my diagnosis. But no one ever listens to me. Because I wear underwear.
The weekend ended with me falling into the lake. With my camera. The camera was fine. Saved by the case. Which was soaked. Then I put the camera back into the wet case. Because I wear underwear. And suffer from a communicable disease. Called Dumbassness. I won't tell you who I caught it from.
Grady did eventually walk on his foot again. After being carried around for the day by his twelve year old camp girlfriend. That kid's got game. And communicable diseases. But no underwear. He'll be just fine.
|Origin of the communicable disease.|