These past couple weeks it has come to my attention that people think I’m blunt and sassy and sometimes mean. Over the weekend, while explaining why not to be scared of bees, I said, “Just know that they don’t give a fuck,” and someone replied, “They’re just like you!”
That’s okay, right? I’m okay with this. Point being: I recently came down with a tear duct infection, and yesterday it occurred to me that I hadn’t been keeping one of my friends abreast of this fun medical development in my life, so I cut into a conversation we were having about burritos with, “OH! So have I told you about my eye cancer?”
I then proceeded to tell the story, regale him with talk of antibiotics and ointments and how I was hoping to get an eyepatch, all while he was apparently going through the stages of grief on the other end of the computer.
It wasn’t until later on that I learned he had genuinely thought I was announcing actual eye cancer. Nonchalantly. Through text messages. In the middle of a conversation about Mexican food etiquette.
I feel like I need a safe word now or something. Like, a special keyword for when I do get cancer so people will know I’m actually dying.
“I just want to let you know — SCUBA — that I have lymphoma.”
I feel like the instantaneous, cyclonic self-involvement and tears will tip people off, though, when the real thing happens.
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