It Ain't Heavy

“Why is your bag always so freakin’ heavy?” asks my IV. (Clinton Kelly, for anyone on the planet who still does not know this. Although, I have recently scheduled an interview with a Mr. Tim Gunn to inquire as to his availability…no promises made…no contracts signed…but it’s important to keep one’s options open, especially since Mr. Kelly seems to be getting awfully testy with me lately…and I haven’t done anything. Not a thing, I tell ya.)

Kathryn: “Well, Mr. Sunshine, let’s find out. Shall we?”


Kathryn: “CLINTON! YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE! YOU STARTED THIS AND YOU WILL DAMNED WELL SEE IT THROUGH.”

Clinton: (Through horrified eyes) “I don’t care why it’s heavy! It could weigh twenty pounds for all I care! And it might! PLEASE just let me gooooo.”

Kathryn: “You're whining, ya know. Sit down. It won’t take long, honey. Most of it is self-explanatory anyway.”

CK: (Glances casually at answering machine)

K: “No, Tim hasn’t returned my call yet. Suck it up, big boy. You can do this. I promise to show you no undies and nothing that has been, is presently, or ever will be inside my body at any given time. ‘Kay?”

CK: “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

K: “That’s the spirit! You’ll be a millionaire in no time with that attitude!!”

CK: “What. Ever.”

K: “Probably 50% of it are those wipe-thingies that kill all those germs that are out to get you and make you leak those horrid bodily fluids that require tissues and Sudafed and inhalers for your constricted airways and then cause you severe dehydration which is why we must always have a minimum of 5 different lip balms varying in flavor and ingredients from coconut for that “going to the beach” vibe all the way to the vitamin E and anti-aging emollients that supposedly give you softer, suppler lips by the end of the week. So, most of this crap is because of YOU, if you really think about it.”

CK: “And what portion of this chaos is considered your must-haves?”

K: “Well. The tape measure, of course. The world’s teeniest flashlight is a can’t-do-without, although the batteries are usually dead when I need it. The Neosporin is self-explanatory, as is the Reader’s Digest, the shoehorn and the chopsticks (both opened and unopened).

CK: “Okay. Ew. Since I know the answer to this question and I’m not watching Family Guy till you get through it, please…oh, please explain the contents of your 50-lb bag.

K: “Mock me all you like, mister. I am now going to pass on the singular most awesome piece of information our readers have ever read. They’ll never forget it and they’ll probably never be able to thank me enough for sharing it.”

CK: “And they love you, so if they think you’re full of sh!t, they probably won’t tell you anyway.”

K: “EXACTLY.”

CK: “You’ve got around a hundred words. GO.”

K: “WHAT?! Well, here’s the thing. It’s the best game ever…but it only works if you’ve got quite the assortment of items in your bag…then it’s an absolute blast. Say you’re in the doctor’s office with your…I don’t know…Surgery sister, let’s say for example…waiting room, right?

You tell her to close her eyes. She won’t want to close her eyes. Why? Because of that time when she was five and you told her to feed Grandpa’s neighbor’s cows the green apples ‘cause You promised they liked ‘em and then they gave sour milk and Grandpa got in trouble and you had to play in your room for the entire next day. Oh, boo-hoo…a whole entire day. Just close your eyes, dammit…people are starting to stare.

Then she has to hold out her hand and guess what’s in it. That’s the whole freakin’ game, but you’d be surprised how much fun it can be…and how much time it can pass. I’ve had entire waiting rooms giving Connor clues as to what he’s holding, because it would never occur to him that his mother would actually carry a baggie containing an eyelash curler, a domino and a pebble.

But, that’s for another day.

I was a Girl Scout, ya know....