Large Marge Speaks

I’m sick. Ever since they pulled that rubber hose out of my nose, my head has been full of snot, I can’t breathe and I sound like I smoke three packs a day. And drive a semi. And probably have a CB name like Large Marge. I want my mother.

Anyway, I was talking to my sister Kelly the other day. She called to check on me and give me some phony baloney story about flowers that she and our other sister Charlene supposedly sent that never arrived. Whatever. Way to save on your flower bill, girls. That’s ok because I got some really beautiful bouquets from other people.

Our cousins, Jack and Barbara sent me these with a note saying I was their favorite out of the three of us girls. Ok, they didn’t use those exact words but I read between the lines. I’m good at that.

Then our youngest boy sent me these with the following note.

It reads: "I know I've always been your favorite child but now I'm also the best child because I am the first one who sent you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I love you, Mom! I can't wait to see you. Love, Andrew and Tori." 

 The kid knows how the game is played. Well done, Andrew.

So, back to the conversation with Kelly. As we were talking, she points out the usual stuff. How her cancer trumps my puny blocked bowel and how her survival is being played out so much better than mine. Oh yeah, it was our typical maximum security asylum conversation.



“So you had a blocked bowel. I have cancer. I saw the Doc today and he even said he couldn’t believe I was still alive.”


“Well, yeah he said that. I was there three years ago when he told you there was no hope and he was an expert on these things. You’re ruining his RBI.”



I then made the mistake of telling her that photos had been taken of me in the hospital and that I would be using them in a post.



“What? Have you lost your mind?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t post those photos. They probably make you look worse than normal.”

“Kelly, seriously, do you not read my blog? Have you never seen me in person? Do you really think I am worried about how I look or what people will think?”

“That’s my point. Marla, listen to me. When I have been at death’s door in my treatments, I still had a brush in one hand and a mascara wand in the other and you know what I was thinking at those times? Do you?”

“Um…”

“I was thinking, where did I go wrong with Marla. Mom and Dad were beautiful. Char and I put a lot of effort into looking good. I mean, what happened with you?”

“Um…”

“I’m serious.”

“I was adopted and really come from the land of Oompa Loompas?”

“Goodbye!”



Oh yeah, one last thing Kelly. Your friend Nicole wrote to me wondering why you are not answering her emails. Don't worry, I didn't tell her about you being jealous of her fabulous body and fabulous house and fabulous life while you have to live in the hollers of Prunetucky with your dogs and turtles and sadly small bosom. You’re welcome.