Upon changing the bandage on my second small pox vaccination (the Army requires it within ten years of the first), I noticed another pustule adjacent to the vaccination site. Of course I immediately called my wife who wasn’t happy about answering the phone at 2 A.M. When I’m in charge (if I live), I’m abolishing time zones so I can call during my daytime in Korea to her new daytime in Georgia without causing problems. For now, it would have to be fine because it was an emergency.
Me: I’m dying.
Her: What this time?
Me: My small pox is spreading.
Her: I just sat down with coffee. Which is the real threat to your continued existence?
Me: I have something LIKE a pimple next to the pox vaccination site under the band aid. It’s not like the zit on my face. That was totally a false alarm.
Her: So you have a pimple.
Me: I’m going to die.
Her: (Pinches her nose and laughs).
Me: I’m in a foreign country dying of a vaccination derived from a bovine malady (it’s made from cow pox you know) and you….
Her: Dying of an active imagination at the very least.
Me: I would expect such a response out of a Moosa denier.
Her: Oh good lord….
Me: And it spread to my chest after I touched the band aid in my sleep and scratched my chest (exposes chest to phone).
Her: It’s an ingrown hair.
Me: And look. This is serious. Real talk.
Her: It’s hard to take you serious.
Me: I’m really worried that the same finger that spread it to my chest might be the same one that got frisky when the toilet paper broke.
Her: (shoots coffee from nose).
Me: They can’t treat it there without amputating.
Her: Most people call a butt amputation a divorce.
Me: I wonder if the troop medical clinic will be so insensitive.