The Crutchess

"I think a global swarming for the doctor who diagnosed the cause of indigestion as global warming should be organized," the Crutchess said.

The Crutchess was sitting at a table sipping a frappucino showcasing her latest injury.
“What is it this time?” I asked ignoring her plan for revenge.

The Crutchess had a nasty little habit of injuring her body parts. She was very athletic, always involved in one sport or another - last summer, it was surfing - however this was usually not how she hurt herself.

"Sprained ankle changing a lightbulb - I fell off a stool". Over the summer, she was hit in the head with a rogue surf board in the parking lot as someone was loading their car. Before that - well the list of injuries was too long to enumerate. Suffice to say, an editor had approached her wanting to publish "her story". Nobody survives that many accidents and lives to tell about it - it had to get documented as the editor kept insisting. She even knew of a producer who might want to option it. It was the editor who kept calling her the crutchess because of her love of Fergie and her love of crutches. The name has stuck.

" I think you might want to find another doctor," the crutchess said.

In walked Omar - my nemesis / potential love interest.

"Well, hello" he said with his usual sly way. " I heard the sarongs you wrote about in your last piece were banned in 3 provinces and 4 states because they used child and sweatshop labor," he looked happy as he said this.

When I first met Omar, I thought the person who introduced us said he was Homar. I thought this was French for lobster as it was a costume party - it was Halloween . However I was confused because he was dressed like a pirate and I kept saying a little confused you're a Homar? He said yes and I thought maybe because he was a pirate and pirates probably eat lobsters, this went on for a while until he picked up on the h and said there's no H, it's just omar, and i thought a lobster without an h? and then I got it. His name was Omar.

Omar was always one step ahead of me. This is why there was conflict. He was also incredibly handsome - this is why he was a potential love interest.

"Hi Omar," said the Crutchess.

"Hello", he replied and then noticed her leg. "What happened to your leg?"

"Oh, you'll love this story. I sprained my ankle trying to go green. I was switching from incandescent to fluorescent when bam! I fell off the stool! "

I shot the Crutchess a dirty look.

"It's important to go green!" I said to him horrified he' d think we were anti-environment. He already thought I was pro-sweatshop. The crutchess often boosted my self-esteem by pointing out that I was simply a lazy writer who didn't do enough research.

"Yes well, I'm sure you're idea of going green involves a muppet" he riposted.

Snappy comeback I thought. I secretely loved him. The crutchess didn't know.

"Speaking of going green," he turned to me, " I heard you went all incredible hulk on a friend of mine," He said. "The hulk's anger was the driving force behind his hero complex, what does your anger do besides make you look a little silly?"

Harsh I thought. But he was right. Yelling at the guy at Big Bonus was a little juvenile. And considering the political climate, a lot insensitive. I could see our romance was not going to blossom today. Was he still mad because I thought his name was Homar? It was an honest mistake for someone culturally challenged as I, at times, appeared to be. As for the sarongs, well, I knew I had to work harder - especially if I wanted to win him over (and get him into bed).

His question was rhetorical and with that he walked off and bid his adieu with an "aufwiedersein". That's goodbye in German.

Dr. No

Dr. No : A doctor who insists, despite many complaints, there is nothing wrong with you.

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Readers of Sandalism: I will eventually finish the story - eventually.

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I think my just desserts may have given me a bad case of indigestion. I couldn't prove it, but I suspected that this was a possibility. Enemies were piling up faster than my laundry. I was even getting hate mail. After several bouts of nausea and sounds I never thought possible, I felt a trip to the doctor was necessary - it might be more serious than I thought.

I went to a clinic where nobody knew me hoping this would give an edge. A fresh start was what I needed.

A fresh start meant a new obsession with checking expiry dates and possibly installing surveillance technologies in all eating establishments. Maybe it would land me a cover story. Maybe it would land me in jail - who knew?. But for now, it landed me at the clinic.

In the waiting room, I overheard two women talking in a very Can you believe the audacity? tone: " I heard a woman went crazy on the bike path near Lachine and just started screaming at a family", "what was she screaming"? " things like: skank, red canal, stop color coordinating". "Stop color coordinating, what is she talking about?" asked the other. "I don't know, I'm still trying to figure out what red canal means."

I had forgotten about that. Thankfully, I wore a disguise and big sunglasses. I knew my big blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and big black glasses would come in handy.

The doctor called me into her office. I began to explain the problem to her. Nausea, cramps, before I could finish, she interjected and said: "Perfectly normal, there's nothing wrong with you". "But this has been going on for months, I can't urinate properly," I said.
"The older we get, the less we urinate", she said.
"I've never heard of that, I also feel very hot, my body temperature has risen."
"Perfectly normal - it's global warming", she said.
"Global warming?"
"Do I need to recommend a psychiatrist?" She asked rather dryly.
"Um ,no".

I left Dr. No's office before I was to be escorted out. A fresh start was what I was hoping for, not a fresh take on indigestion.

Pinkgrapefruit
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