Today I decided I wanted to be Roxie Hart. This happens more often then I’d like to admit. It’s not like I admire her at all. It just that I know all the Chicago songs, and I think her haircut is cute. But fact of the matter is, if I was to be a Renee Zellweger character, I’d probably be closer to Bridget Jones than Roxie Hart. I may not be able to sing – but I can drink and eat dessert for dinner. We all have our strengths guys.
What I really wanted to write about was hospital waiting rooms. In Brisbane the lines are particularly bad. You have to sit there with your broken bones and appendicitis, until you start to disturb the other patients with your pain noises. I sat in one on Sunday with my boyfriend, Peychaud (still a code name) and tried to guess all the diseases I could possibly be exposed to. Everytime I wander into a hospital I wonder if everyone in there is like, “I wonder what she’s here for. Maybe she picking up someone, maybe there is a small spider living under her skin somewhere”. I can’t be the only one trying to guess what people are in for based on their outward appearances. There isn’t a lot to do in waiting rooms. As I looked around this particular waiting room, no one was touching the enormous stack of trashy magazines, no one was watching the badly dubbed movie that was likely made in the 40’s. No one is even talking. They are just angrily staring at each other. It’s like the Hunger Games in here. I just know that man sitting next to me is hoping that I will die just so he can move up in the queue. That is what it gets like.
But the thing that makes me feel like this whole situation is being controlled by some unseen game maker is this crawling monstrosity sitting at my feet. It’s a small child with eyes that say “I’m nothing but innocent.” Then it head-butted my leg a few times then settled on my shoe for a quick nibble… Did you know children do that? I could feel its little teeth trying to bite into my shiny heels. They are practically made of steel, so it did nothing to my shoes. So that’s one problem down.
What does one do in a situation like that? The mother is probably in for some serious reason. Grandmother is distraught and confused, struggling to keep an eye on little Fang. Speaking of Fang, she is now crawling up my leg with her saliva covered hands and now I’m worried she is going to try and lift up my skirt.
I’ve had dogs bite the shoes on my feet before and it’s taking all of my brain power not to automatically shake it off. Or kick it. It’s not like I dislike them – it’s just a (literal) knee jerk reaction. After another minute of toddler gnawing I was praying that Fang’s Mother would get called in before us. Peychaud had already been waiting for two hours and together we had waited another hour, and I was willing to let Fang senior skip the queue just so I could get out of this looming awkward situation where I accidentally kick this blue eyed ringletty cherub out of my future.
But that was my Sunday.