My sister Kelly has made her decision and is going to have spinal surgery on May 17th. The surgery is scheduled at MDAnderson in Houston. None other than the infamous Dr. McDreamy will be performing the surgery along with his usual cast of characters assisting. This is not your regular, run-of-the-mill back surgery. Oh no! This is a major, remove that tumor, rebuild part of the destroyed spinal column, my back surgery is better than your back surgery kind of dealio. Kelly always has been a show off and insists on doing everything in a far superior way than the rest of us peons.
Anyway, Kel and I have been conversing on a daily basis about deep life issues. I mean, time is short and you never know what might happen so you need to say the important things now before it’s too late. So that is what we have been discussing. Deep important issues…..like, what the hell am I suppose to wear to my youngest son’s wedding next month when I am so dang fat that I can’t even fit in a tent? And my hair! Has anyone seen my hair lately? I have never met his fiancés family and I was hoping not to look like the witch from the wizard of Oz at our first meeting. At least the witch was thin. I guess looking like a witch would be ok if I was thin. Did I mention I’m freaking fat? But I digress.
Kelly, of course, barely hears a word I say. Why? Because it’s all about her. Kelly, Kelly, Kelly. All she wants to talk about is how mad she is that she won’t be at the wedding and how my son is like a son to her and how sad everyone is going to be that she won’t be there because she is the life of every party. Yeah, you’re the freakin queen of the May, Kel. How will the wedding ever go on without you?
As if that isn’t bad enough, she pours salt in my big, fat, bad hair wound and informs me she has asked McDreamy for a favor. Could he do a boob job while he is in there anyway? And that jerk of a doctor says, “Sure, Kelly. We can do a boob job for you because after all, you are the Queen of the May.”
So, now I have to go to my sons wedding looking like Jabba on a bad hair day. My sister, the Queen, won’t be there to garner all the attention which means people might actually see me which makes me feel nauseous even thinking about it. And if all that isn’t bad enough, by the time this stinking wedding is over, Kelly will have perky girls once again and I will just be left looking like a boob.
Kelly, I know you are reading this blog again so I have one thing to say to you. I love you and I would trade places with you in a New York minute. Yes, I am that desperate to get out of going to this wedding.