So like, some days I just wonder how we got where we are. How the universe combines its forces for you to be at a certain place at a certain time. I spend my days in a constant state of anxiety, stress, and caffeine-induced frantic episodes. Being a mom is hard, hard work. Somedays, like this morning, I look at myself in the mirror and I just stare and say “what happened to you woman?!”
Then there are days where Dave brings this home from work.
That right there is literally a stack of hundreds of Belgian chocolates.
Me: “What’s this?”
Dave: “We got a new client, and they sent us samples.”
Me: “Why did you bring them all here?”
Dave: “I didn’t – that’s not even 2% of what they sent. We literally have hundreds of those boxes at the office.”
So he has spent the last 2 weeks in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Literally. Every time I call I can hear him chomping chocolate, laughing with his co-workers as they do the same. This is what I imagine it’s like every day over there:
Here’s a photo from the shoot they did.
So. Much. Chocolate.
THEN this evening, as we’re chillin’ after the kids are in bed he goes:
Dave: “So you know my cyst?”
Me: “No, wait, what? YOU HAVE A CYST?”
Dave: “Yeah – this one…”
holds up hand, and there’s a lump the size of a marble on it
ME: “WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHAT IS THAT?”
Dave: (super casually) “Babe, I’ve had it forever.”
Me: Blink, blink, staring, blink, blink
Dave: “Anyway, they say if you hit a cyst with a book, it will get rid of it.”
Me: “Nobody says that. Who’s ‘they’ ?”
Dave: “Everyone at work! Well we looked it up and read about it. And then we tried it”
You guys, I’m not even kidding when I say that they all believed this, and THEY TRIED IT.
I just…I just have no words. Dave works at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory/YouTube Medical Office. How did this happen? What do I do with this? (Except get diabetes, cuz #chocolateisdelish).
Needless to say, it did not work, and someone will be seeing the doc tomorrow. And by someone, I mean me, because my blood-chocolate level is beyond a healthy number. Who cares if Dave has a horrible growth on his hand?