Seen and Heard: Today at The Hospital
In the lobby:
"Do you need some help dear?"
"Are you looking for something dear?"
"Do you need some directions, dear?"
"Do you need some help dear?"
I am directionally-challenged, but besides that, I think it's very dangerous to walk around with your eyes raised to the ceiling, looking for H Wing. My strategy? Stand there looking stewpid and no less than four people will help me.

In the pre-operative assessment waiting room:
"Fram-boys-ee. That stands for strawberry, honey. In French. They make wine from that."
Oh good grief. For non-bilingual readers, framboise (fram-bwazzz) is French for raspberry. If they make wine from "that", I don't want it.

In the assessment room, finally, one hour later:
"On the day of your surgery, leave all your jewellery at home, remove your nailpolish and don't wear any makeup."
The hell with that! No makeup and no nailpolish for one of the most significant moments of my life thus far? I've never been "under the knife" before. I was hoping to get nicely gussied up for xyz surgical procedure.

So, "should I die before I wake", sans makeup and jewellery and nailpolish, you must have a closed-casket funeral for me. I'm not leaving this face to some Mary Kay funeral home flunkie to guck up.

And about that, loyal readers will remember that my self-scribed obit is stashed in these archives somewhere.

As one final request, I would like to have a commemorative stamp established in my honour. I fancy the idea of people licking my backside after I'm gone.