You know you are going crazy when...

The list could be quite long if I really put some thought to it, but the events of tonight were noteworthy. By sharing this with the world I imagine I am only advancing the argument that I am going crazy.

I came home from work starving after a long day. It was 8:30 and I was really excited about dinner. Last night I bought some frozen dinners from Supper Solutions. I thought I would try it out. I know this is blasphemy to the purest cooks out there, but I was tired of supporting the local fast food economy. I figured I could at least eat healthy even if I didn’t want to cook. And only an idiot can mess up these meals.

I set the oven to 350 degrees just as the instructions said. I got out the defrosted meal, put my Chicken Cord-on-Blue in an oven safe dish, and poured the sauce over the food. Then I set the timer for 38 minutes...Easy enough. I went to my office and started working. Checking my email, paying bills, etc. I think my stomach was carefully keeping track of the minutes because my internal clock was perfect. I walked back into the kitchen with a forty seconds left on the timer and opened the oven. It was empty. Details, details. My dish was still sitting on the counter.

But wait there's more. I reset the timer and put the dish in the oven. Then back to the office to finish my work and watch a little TV. I was salivating by this time. Thirty-eight minutes later, the oven door opened again ready to dig in to my "supper solution". It looked a little wet, and not thoroughly cooked...just a little warm. Apparently the oven turned off when I canceled the last forty seconds of my first attempt.

So my "solution" to my "supper" is left-over pizza from last night and some Wheat Thins.

The power of past tense

I know you’ve asked the same question before so don’t give me any grief. The untimely, “when is your baby due?” I’ve decided I will never ask the question again. (Although I think I had already decided I would never ask the question. So much for commitment) Of course, in my mind, all the facts seemed to have added up to a legitimate inquiry...until the words left my mouth, and at that moment, I realized my analysis was miscalculated.

I was doing an exam today after the hygienist had just finished cleaning a woman’s teeth. She was sitting in the dental chair and her newborn baby was sitting in a baby carrier next to her on the floor. As I have not spent a lot of time with newborns, I didn’t accurately judge the child’s age. It looked older than nine months to me. As I was doing the exam, the hygienist was going over the woman’s health history with me. “She is pregnant...bla, bla, bla...and we took new x-rays today.”

As we rarely take radiographs on a pregnant female I was curious as to why the hygienist took the films, but did not comment on it since I didn’t want to raise any concerns. Instead, I was trying to figure out if she was in her 1^st, 2^nd, or 3^rd trimester because it affects treatment decisions. I finished the exam and sat her up. “When are you due?” I asked. The hygienist looked at me and only spoke with her eyes. She then tried to help smooth the situation. “She just had her baby Dr. Kelson; see, right there on the floor.” I tried apologizing. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood. I thought I heard you say she was pregnant.” She clarified, “I said she WAS pregnant; not she IS pregnant.”

I sheepishly said a few other words that I cannot recall to try and redeem myself and slowly backed out of the room with my tail between my legs. “It was nice meeting you.”