Going Shopping

 

 Day Two of my Captivity:

I'm making no points with the nursing staff here.

They keep insisting I'm in pain.

I'm not.

They keep insisting I'm throwing up.

I'm not.

I asked as they brought me a second dinner tray last night at 10:00, only

to whisk that one away again, proclaiming it would cause me to throw up again,

"What year of Nursing School do you people take a class in Sadism exactly?"

 THIS is my dinner.

 Sam smuggled me some salt.

They tried to make me take my capris leggings off.

I told them I'd take off my pants if they bought me dinner.

I waved the packet of hot chicken water powder at them.

I still have the pants.

I haven't eaten since Thursday. 

The first reader to pop in here with a cooked turkey under their shirt 

gets a panda hat.

I'm Cranky, Grumpy, Hungry, and 4 other dwarves I can't list on a PG-13 blog.

And all of you, DO NOT wear a thong to the hospital.

Nurses with needles don't even have to warn you.

I'm just sayin'.

Have I mentioned I'm claustrophobic?

Like, I can't even use a regular stall in a ladies room.

The MRI machine is proof positive to me that 50 Shades of Gray is all garbage.

Sam standing there, holding my hand while I tried to break his fingers,

intermittently chirping, "Oh Baby, this is so COOL!!!"

did not help.

I'll be looking for plastic shark toys, his greatest fear, to start slipping into unexpected places.

 As soon as I finish my breakfast

~which is the "nutrition" dripping out of this bag~

I'm putting on my slippers, unplugging this beast to drag it along,

and making a break for it.

Don't rat me out.

So....

Heading for the hospital gift shop.

BRB.

If not back, avenge death.