This past week as Mr. Man and I lounged around our sprawling estate, I realized that my life is just way too laid back. What with our perfect children, our incredible level of financial independence and perfect hard bodies, I felt inspired to do something to shake things up a bit.
"Hey, Mr. Man," I said to my sweet Baboo, "What do you say we get up real early in the morning and drive two hours to a hospital as big as Disney World so I can get their Monday Thyroid Biopsy Special? I think that would be a hoot."
"Why sure, Honey," said Man. "I think that'd be just a swell idea. Let's do that."
And so we did. We woke up at dawn, picked out the perfect matching his and her outfits and had our driver take us to the big city while we drank champagne in the back of the limo.
"Ms. Crazy On Your Face, how lovely to see you," said my physician. "Before we begin, let me tell you a little about the procedure. I will be taking samples of fluid from the lumps in your swan-like neck, which will require the use of several needles of varying lengths. You're in charge, so if you feel any discomfort, just tell me and I'll stop."
"Say, Doc. What about the use of some sort of numbing agent for this possible discomfort of which you speak?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't like to use those kinds of medicines before this type of procedure. I find it makes my job more difficult and I'm way too important to have to work hard," said Dr. Evil. "Besides, you'll be fine".
Everyone in the room agreed that what is most important in a situation like this one is keeping it simple for the doctor.
Before I knew it, Dr. Demento placed a pillow under my shoulders and tilted my head backwards as far as it could go. It was as close as I had come to doing a back bend since I was fifteen and trying to impress the testosterone carriers of East Rutherford High.
"Just relax, Dear. But no matter what, do not move one tiny, tiny bit or else something terrible and irreversible could happen to you. And of course, I have no intentions of telling you what that is, so it