is nothing sacred . . . .

and so it seems, my gall bladder and I need to part company. Since I am rather attached to it, I am trying my hardest to persuade the doctors to leave us both alone . . . but each one says: nope, its full of stones and needs to come out. I like to envision it decked out in Tiffany and Swarovski . . . a little tiara maybe . . . a diamond choker . . . a pair of emerald slippers? Friday, I picked up yet another test kit from the lab, brought it home and read the directions. Oh my! Anything that involves rubber gloves can't be good. Unless, of course, you are dying your hair or its Easter egg time. Cut me a break, Doc! Worse yet, I had to return the kit to the lab . . . think total embarrassment. Is nothing sacred?

Let's talk about klutzes. I am queen . . . although Katie also claims that title . . . then again, it might just be genetic. Last night while tip toeing into Katie's room at midnight, I stumbled over a door stop . . . my beloved Scottie. The score was cast iron 10; toe 0. After a few choice words and much hopping up and down, I managed to wake the entire household. I finally regained my 'couth' and slunk back into bed . . . toe throbbing. This morning, it had a beautiful purple ring around it. I am thinking it was jealous of my gall bladder's finery and wanted some color of its own . . . sigh.