I was recently having dinner in a Japanese restaurant with my wife, sister-in-law, and our friend Kate. At some point in the conversation, the topic of Kate’s upcoming procedure came up and who was going to drive her there and back. My wife was originally planning to do it, but my sister-in-law (Joyce) said she lived closer and wasn’t working that day. Then they tossed around the idea of both of them going. At this point, I chimed in and said, “I can go too. It will be a party.”
The three women turned to me and gave me “the look.”
“What is wrong with you?” they said with their eyes. You see, this procedure is somewhat private and invasive and nobody wants to have it, but the healthcare industry decrees you must do it as soon as you turn 50 or before this run-on sentence ends. And since it is a private and personal procedure, I’m not going to tell you that it was a colonoscopy. That’s because Kate is also my defacto sister and if you can’t embarrass your sister, then who can you embarrass?
But I wasn’t content with just the “What is wrong with you” look. I wanted to hear it come from their mouths. So, I offered a suggestion while they were discussing the fun-filled prep one has to do to have a colonoscopy.
Me: “Have you ever seen in movies when drug mules swallow a balloon filled with drugs to hide it from border patrol?
Joyce (somewhat uneasy): “Yes, why?”
Me: “I think Kate should put a fortune cookie in a balloon and swallow it after she clears everything out so the doctor finds it when they’re up in there.”
All three of them: “What is wrong with you?”
As you can imagine, nobody was keen on the fortune cookie idea. (Side note: yes, I know that fortune cookies are typically in Chinese restaurants. But did you know the Japanese actually invented them? I have so much useless trivia in my brain.)
I’ve had a colonoscopy myself. It wasn’t that bad, but the prep is miserable. The only remarkable thing about it was my doctor. When she walked in, all I could see was a lab coat, legs, and 4-inch heels. Whatever she had on underneath wasn’t visible below the lab coat. She looked like she had been to an all-night rave and had rolled into work without going to bed. I looked to my wife to see if she was as alarmed as I was, but she had already become bored and was scrolling on her phone.
Despite my fear that I was on an episode of Punk’d, Dr. Rave took good care of me, and everything was fine. In fact, my colon was so spectacular that she wanted to see it again in 5 years. And time flies because my 5 years are up in September.
So, if Kate won’t do the fortune cookie idea, it’s up to me. I’ve been researching how to do it. What kind of balloon, how to swallow a fortune cookie whole, etc. My search history has probably put me on the FBI’s radar, but I’m certain they have files for authors and harmless weirdos. Hopefully, I’m in one of those.
The only thing left to do is order the fortune cookie and tell them what to print on the fortune. But I think you can guess what it’s going to say…
Carry on, Citizens!
