Proof positive that God has a warped sense of humor

February 7, 2010

I had such plans for goodies during the Super Bowl. New potatos, with creme fraiche and caviar. Italian meatball sliders. Beer, or red wine, or maybe a Scotch. Quiet Sunday, me and the TV .

And here I sit in St. Joseph Mercy hospital, wired up to a freakin’ heart monitor, because I have apparently decided to have some sort of cardiac arrythmia that made me faint, but won’t repeat itself so the docs can figure out WTF is the matter.

My game night snacks?

  • Chocolate covered cherries
  • Crunch ‘n Munch
  • Pringles
  • Diet Coke

If you do not yet feel sufficiently sorry for me, I’ll detail the hospital food to date.

Breakfast: Fake scrambled eggs, a cold biscuit, cream of wheat, weak coffee, bacon, a banana. The bacon was palatable; it had at least had passing acquaintance with a pig at some time in its past. I did not touch the eggs. The cream of wheat was OK once I put some salt and pepper on it and pretended it was grits. The banana was…a banana. I had Child C bring me coffee from McDonald’s.

Lunch: Purple hulled peas, glazed carrots, mystery meat, fruit with cottage cheese. I ate the peas, attempted the carrots — the glaze was way too thick and sickly sweet — and ate the fruit and cottage cheese. I did not touch the mystery meat; I was afraid of it. Chocolate cake that looked OK, if you like chocolate cake; I don’t.

Dinner: I think it was chicken pot pie. I did not investigate too closely. Lima beans that tasted very nearly identical to lunch’s peas. Green jello and pears. God help me, I ate the green jello and pears. What lengths we will sink to.

I am feeling well enough to be bitchy. And the Who looked like hell and sounded worse at halftime. And my knee hurts where I whacked it when I fell, and I want to go home. Don’t you and y’mama ‘n ’em go fainting; it complicates life.


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