Well-Learned Politesse

Back in August, when the plumber Kid was here, he had a little incident with an abscessed tooth.

Remember?

I was slightly less than sympathetic towards him then. I seemed to think I could be -- here, at least -- because I knew he'd never read this. Because, even if he did, I never once referred to him by name.

And, in a cosmic case of karmic whup-ass, I have been in the dentist's chair every Tuesday ever since.

I'll be there this afternoon, in fact. If I'm very lucky, today's work will take only three or four hours and leave me with only three or four appointments left to go. If my luck runs out (because lord knows it's been holding steady so far), then it's the surgery and the bone-shaving and the gum-removal and the black flies in my goddamn chardonnay.

So what made me think it was a good idea to express anything less than utmost sympathy for the Bossman here this morning?

He just called. He went to the doctor yesterday. He has diverticulitis. So badly that they sent him in this morning for a catscan to see how far gone his bowel was, and whether or not any of it would have to be removed. He just got out, but he doesn't have results yet.

And he's picking Johnny up for work this afternoon.

Please, Hammer, if you have to hurt me, can I take gum surgery for $1000 and leave it there, at that?

I don't want to have to wear a bag.



I toyed with whether or not to label this post "houseblogs" or not. This one's not house-related, of course, but it seems only fair to the Bossman that anyone who read this morning's ought to get a chance to read how it turned out. Plus, they do say you get a 30% cushion of non-related poop.

So let's call this one that.