So, yesterday I went to pick up my friend Julie who had knee surgery. When I arrived, she was just out of the operating room and swaddled like a baby in warm blankets from head to toe. She was sleeping so beautifully, with a gentle smile on her face. Good drugs, I thought. She looks so content. I will sit quietly so that when she wakes from her happy place, then she will glance over and see that her dear Judy has been here all along waiting to bring her home safely. NOT. Julie’s eyes open, she looks over at me and quickly turns away and closes her eyes tight. “You’re shirt is psychedelic! I can’t look at you.” What?!
My tank top attacked Julie’s senses and she recoiled in Percocet purgatory until she could adjust to reality and my top again. What a rude awakening! Sorry, Jules. She was a champ, hobbling to the car. Then, when I got us lost on the way home, Julie, still quite loopy, picked out the right street. A high woman has a better sense of direction than I do. Alas.