Then Things Were Marginally Better

I'm sitting here watching the most recent 16 and Under, which may not sound like a good thing to some people, but it means that a) I didn't die, and b) nor did Whoopis.  It's just another low-key night in the Grumples' household where Whoopis is hiding his evil blind eye under the bed, and I'm sitting here accepting that I probably have some fatty log stuck in my intestines.

Using my health-measuring yardstick, not being dead after 36 hours of pain in my right side means it is not appendicitis.  Now I'm just going to do my best to ignore it.  I took some Metamucil (jesus, those pills are huge and you have to take five just to get one serving size) and ate an apple.  The Boy fell flat on his face and died when I asked him to bring me some fruit.  I swear I didn't mean to kill him.  I'm only eating it out of desperation.

Best quote ever, "...my girl's going to be working down at the local Piggly-Wiggly as a cash register."  Yes, that would be very sad.  I would much rather be a cash register on some swanky grocery store like Kroger's.  At the Piggly-Wiggly I'm mostly fed moist singles and worn coins.  It would be so unfair.

The vet came to visit Whoopis in his time of gurgling breathing and blood-tinted mucus.  It seems he just has a bad infection (she couldn't tell if it was his eye or a tooth), and put him on antibiotics and gave him an IV for hydration and nutrients.  We now get the phone of giving him eyedrops, pills, and more bags of fluid.  He already seems better, so I am much relieved.

Maybe my pain and his infection will go away magically by morning.  That is my hope for us at least.

In the meantime, here is a picture of my mosaic before I framed it.