Want to hear a really dodgy medic/ER story?
Imagine, if you will......
It's just after 5 pm, you've had three glasses of a cheap-and-cheerful cabernet, donated by your (increasingly weird, but sweet nonetheless)
neighbour (who is celebrating the fact her Sperm Donor has left), and together you've walked down to the local book repository place.
You're surfing the web at said library, and you happen to check The Bad Evil Email Account (the one you used to sign up for the free pr0n site,
which lied about it's promise to "nevuh evuh sell your email address, evuh. No Sirree").
You just happen to see a Yoo Are Ell involving the words "shave" "rave" "bathe" and "crave". In one title. Being the lover of silly
rhymes that you are, you decide - after quick sideways glances to check nobody is watching - to click on the link.
You find a page with mountains of pictures.
Of multicoloured crotches.
Pubic hair, dyed just about every colour known to man (and some previously unknown, I'd venture).
Various stripey efforts (the green-and-bleached-stripes reminded me of peppermints....).
Dark brownish green (I question the wisdom of this one - green hair is funny, but green skin looks like mold. Sorry)
After spending 20 minutes laughing hysterically at the Guy With The Neon Pink Pubes, you stumble home.
And remember that you've got a plastic tube of purple hair colourant sitting in the bathroom.
To gather enough courage (and because, frankly, you just like the stuff), you have another glass of wine. And a shot of vodka, because your earlier
buzz wore off a bit.
Bathtub + wine + giggling + trying to dye your own "personal" hair and shave it into little shapes while you're doing so = one very sad case of
slipping on the side of the tub, throwing the dye (and watching in Pythonesque dismay as it spreads, Matrix-speed, over your legs) in a vague attempt
to grasp onto something and cracking your wrist in the process.
And that's not the worst part.
The worst part was trying to explain what happened to the emergency doctors, after being driven there by a friend. I was yelping in pain, kind of
panicky, and didn't have time to put on anything more than a t-shirt dress. There was purply red dye all down my legs. I was forced (forced, I
tell you, forced!) to tell them what happened before they started treating me for what coulda been a really dodgy haemorrhage situation. Well, that,
and I have a tough time lying to doctors. They're just so...domineering, you know?
And I quote "Well missy, I suggest next time you at least get a "friend" to help...." (I swear I heard his quotation marks).
Go on. Laugh at me.
Cos you know I'd laugh if it had happened to you
TwinklyTinkle, your hyperembarassed (but not afraid to share) Ministeria of the most definitely Hysterica-laden Interior.