Legal adults

Craig: "What's that?"

Marie: "It's a box of mini-quiches Dad got from Costco. I'm making some for breakfast."

Craig: "Is there more than one kind?"

Marie: "Uh, it says some are spinach and cheese, and some are bacon and cheese."

Craig: "Can you make extras and I'll have some?"

Marie: "Sure."

Craig: "What kind do you want?"

Marie: "I'll just make the whole tray, and I'll eat whatever ones you don't want."

 

Fifteen minutes later

Marie: "Hey, how came all the bacon ones are gone?"

Craig: "I ate them."

Marie: "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE SOME FOR ME?"

Craig: "You said I should eat whatever ones I wanted, and you'd eat the rest."

Marie: "So you only left me spinach ones?"

Craig: "I hate spinach."

Marie: "You still should have saved me some bacon!"

Craig: "That's not what you said!"

Marie: "But they're my favorite, you dickhead!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Uh, I have to go to Costco today, I'll just get another box."

Marie: "And I get all the bacon ones."

Craig: "I'm not visiting your island in Animal Crossing if you're going to be this way."

Memories

It's been about 9 years since BlackDog died, so here's the whole story.

She'd been in declining health for some time. Not visibly suffering, but obviously going downhill bit by bit.

Toward the end she'd gotten increasingly lethargic, and at work one day I suddenly realized she'd died at home just then (don't ask me how I knew, I just did).

So I went home before the kids got there, and sure enough she was gone. She was in her usual sleeping place by the couch, looking pretty peaceful. I got a stethoscope out of my hospital bag to check (I'm a neurologist, so it was the first time in years I'd actually used one).

Obviously, getting rid of a decent-sized (60 lbs) dog isn't something easy to do. She was too big to quickly dig a hole for, I wasn't going to toss my longtime friend in a dumpster, and other things just didn't seem like a good idea:

So I carried her out to the car and called our vet to warn them I was bringing in a dead dog.

When I pulled into the lot the office manager was waiting out there for me, to get me in through the back door. She didn't feel, somewhat understandably, that a guy carrying a large dead animal in through a crowded waiting room would be good for business.

So she led me in through the back and had me set BlackDog down in a room while she went to get some paperwork.

At this point Dr. Hypervet wandered by and glanced in the room. Apparently no one had told her that a dead dog was coming in.

She ran in and began yelling "TECH! I NEED A TECH IN HERE! THIS DOG ISN'T BREATHING!"

Some tech ran in. Dr. Hypervet started listening with her stethoscope. I calmly tried to tell her the dog was dead, but every time I opened my mouth she'd "SHUSH!" me, like she was a possessed librarian.

Finally, I yelled "STOP!"

She looked up at me like I'd just climbed out of the air vent.

"Look. She's dead. I brought her in for cremation, that's all."

Dr. Hypervet looked from me to the office manager, who'd just come back.

"SHE IS? Oh, I mean, of course, uh, yes, she is. Why didn't anyone tell me in advance?"

I said "I tried to."

The office manager said: "I did, but you said you were busy."

Dr. Hypervet carefully put her stethoscope back on and firmly said, "Well, I absolutely agree with you," and walked out of the room.

I think even BlackDog was laughing.

Seen in a chart

 

Medical inventions

Several years ago I posted about Local Hospital's bizarre "washing your hands entertainment system," where the soap dispenser has a screen that shows you seemingly random items while you lather up. This is on a par with the TV screen that provides apolitical bubblegum news while you're pumping gas.

Anyway, over time you guys have sent some of your own pics of this "keeping-your-mind-busy-while-getting-an-ATV-rider's-cortex-off-your-hands" distraction, so I thought it was time to share them.

First we have this, which may come in handy if you ever hear yourself saying "I'll take 'marsupials' for $400."

 

Then there's this one, which I'm guessing sent people back to their phone wondering "who?" and looking it up before they rejoined the code-in-progress:

 

Bizarrely, this next one is incorrect. That number is per day, NOT per hour:

 

One can only hope no one was injured when the ICU doc came back from washing his hands, called the respiratory tech over, and said "the hand-washing machine says we're doing this wrong, turn her rate up to 384 breaths per minute." 

 

 

 Here's this one, which gets back to the childhood "whoever smelt it, dealt it" game.

 

 

 

 

Finally, there's this pick-me-up, in case you need a reason to feel grateful after cleaning up an unhelmeted motorcyclist who attempted riding between 2 semis.