...keeps going downhill...

So now Lauren's done with all the throwing up, but now she's getting fevers and being all snuffly. Dandy.

To add interest to this, Addison has decided to go on a puking spree (necessitating a trip to the vet) and I got a wisdom tooth removed this morning.

Bleh.

I asked the dentist techie if my file was clearly marked "Chickenshit."
"We don't usually put that sort of thing on a patient's file, no."
"But you should."
"How about, 'Patient is very hesitant?'"
"Not nearly strong enough."
"Um...'Patient is Mortified?'"
"Better. It still lacks the all-encompassing urgency of 'chickenshit,' though."

She sets me up with a paper bib around my neck and a Q-Tip full of topical sticking out of my mouth and leaves me to sit there and stare at a poster of a shark's mouth full of sharp teeth. I am momentarily envious of the shark. HE'S not in the dentist's office. And I bet he's not a chickenshit. He'd bite the dentist's arm off.

Dentist Techie, of course, felt the need to relate our conversation to the doctor. He shakes his head sadly. "Still not used to me, huh?" he asks.
"Oh no, it's not YOU," I said hastily. "It's your shots. YOU are just fine. In fact, how about I run out and fetch you a coffee? Now. Starbucks OK for you?"
He laughs grimly and starts to lower the chair back.
"Did you know," I said, totally off-topic, "That shark's teeth fold back?"
He blinks at me.
"So if a shark bites something soft, like a fish, his teeth stay all sharp and pointy. But if he bites something hard, like a turtle, his teeth will actually collapse inward and form a crushing plate. Read that in some science magazine."
He still blinks at me, but it's a more interested blink.
"If you don't want people to talk sharks, you shouldn't hang shark posters in the room," I said.
He feigned interest, made some comment about the teeth still being able to grip the prey, wasn't that nice, now close your eyes.

I WANNA GO HOME!

Actually, the man is quite good at giving shots. I just hate them so. I still think the biggest spectacle I ever made of myself was at the phlebotomist's office for a blood draw. I think the guy was just so taken aback. "It's really ok, ma'am," he said nervously. (Like hell, buddy.)

So the rest was fine after that. You know, for as good as that stuff gets.

Took the cat into the vet's office to learn that they're tearing the place apart...it seems that the practice has been sold out and the place is being turned into a real estate office this weekend. WHAT?!?!? Yes, the whole staff, I guess, is skipping over to Chesterfield.

And speaking of which, I had just a LOVELY conversation with the vet tech. (This is the person who watches the kitties for us while we're away.) We got to discussing school and parenting and I don't know what all...I mentioned my deep distrust of the local school district and their abysmal scores (state average for the competency tests is 36%. I see this year they're raised it up to 45%. Great. From a grade of F- to just plain F. Aim high.) and she says, "Yeah, when I moved here I wondered why everyone was pregnant and on drugs."
Say what, now?
Oh yes, she moved here during her junior year, from a good school district in Florida. Enrolled in the local public schools. "I couldn't figure out why nobody in English class was capable of writing a sentence. And it seemed that all the girls were pregnant and everyone was taking drugs. You DO know that the nickname for this school district is 'Fort Fertility,' right?"

WHAT?!?! Yeah, apparently the district is so very famous for having the highest or one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in the nation that Jay Leno worked "Fort Fertility" into one of his monologues and it stuck.

And apparently there's a little bit of a meth problem, too.

Gettin' pretty wide-eyed over here, folks.