obviously means I've got colon cancer. Well, I've got a very colon-cancer-friendly diet haven't I? And every hypochondriac picks a winner in the end. Or maybe it's the chronic prostatitis that was always going to turn into cancer one day. After all my dad was hardly older than me when he got prostate cancer. No, the truth is less dramatic (although hardly less distasteful) - the bloody Chalfonts are back.
I'm reminded of a P J O'Rourke (wrong politics but great man!) piece about a guy who "wasn't quite being bored to death, but was being bored into a very bad mood. And that was worse, because there is nothing heroic about facing a bad mood with dignity." A man facing cancer with composure is admirable. A man facing (well, not exactly facing) Rockfords with anything at all is a joke.
When I got back from taking the lovely lady's books back to the library she sweetly suggested I had a nice sit down while she cooked the dinner. I gently pointed out that I preferred to stand, and that I might as well cook while I was doing so.
Achilles' heel, St. Paul's "thorn in the flesh" - I can't help thinking that these might have been euphemisms.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment