(Part if the When Eric Makes the Bed series) 
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Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me
According to Facebook, exactly 8 years ago to this day, I said the following:
I said the same fucking thing this morning.
#notgood
Not Better
Sitting here in the dermatologist waiting room, there is a teenage boy with severe acne, looking pretty sad.
I wanted to lean over to him and whisper, “Don’t worry, it gets better,” but then I remembered that I’m here to get my moles checked for cancer.
So it doesn’t really get better…it just gets…deadlier?
I’m going to stay quiet.
Germ Protection
I know some teachers who are so traumatized by their germ-infested classrooms during cold/flu season that they wash every single item of clothing they wear, every single time they wear it. Which is completely ridiculous.
I burn mine.
Overactive Bladder
I’ve been complaining about my frequent urination issues for a while now, so, urged by friends and family, I finally went to see a urologist.
Urologist: “So what seems to be the problem?”
Me: “I have to pee ALL the time. Way too much. Way too often.”
Urologist: “It sounds like you might have overactive bladder.”
Me: “No, I KNOW I have an overactive bladder. That’s what I’m saying. That’s the only symptom. My bladder is overactive.”
Urologist: “Right, but I’m saying, that means you probably have Overactive Bladder. That’s the name of the condition.”
Me: “Are you serious?”
Urologist: “Yes.”
Me: “So they just took the one symptom and named the condition that?”
Urologist: “Well…yes. Essentially.”
Me: “That seems lazy.”
Urologist: “I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”
Me: “So I just paid to hear things I already know. Things anyone who knows me knows.”
Urologist: “Possibly.”
Me: “Is your job even real?”
He’s doing a cystoscopy on me next week. But I’m pretty sure he recommended it just so he could say a big, medical-y term I’ve never heard of and prove his job is real.
I’m on to you, pee doctor.
Romance, Part 4
“I’m getting on that piece of wood with you.”
— Eric, making it very clear what he will do should we find ourselves in the same situation as Rose and Jack after the Titanic sank.
That’s no way to end a session
“See you next Tuesday!”– my therapist, to me, every single time I leave her office.
I’ve got to switch my therapy day.
I Deserved That
Eric (while cutting up the duck he cooked for dinner tonight): “Ugh, this duck is so fatty.”
Me: “That’s ok. I like my duck how I like my men” (cue laughing at my own joke).
Eric: “Well, good. Because I like my duck how I like my women.”
(20 second silence as he eats a few vegetables, cuts some more duck, takes a sip of water)
“…cunty.”
Old People PSA
Dear Old People,
You are no longer allowed to use self checkout.
Look, it’s not an ageist thing. It’s a me not wanting to be responsible for kicking you in the face thing. I have a hard enough time in society as it is– I don’t want to also have to explain to people why I went ahead and kicked an old lady in the face that one time. No one would understand. Unless they were here with me, right now, in this CVS, watching you take FIFTY YEARS to ring up ONE can of Fancy Feast cat food. (Of COURSE you have a cat. You are KILLING ME.)
So that’s it. No more self check out. K?
Great.
Oh Christ. Is that a checkbook?!
Self-help skills– check!
Student (looking around): “I have a problem. I don’t know where to find books.”
We are sitting in a library.
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