For anyone who’s ever been like: “Brie’s a smarty”…

I give you… Tuesday:

I missed work today because I have pink eye, which I probably got from choking on a piece of fudge the other day in my boss’ car.  It “went down the wrong” tube, as they saying goes, and I coughed and sniffled to regain composure.  Afterwards, I felt I may have put some strain on my sinuses, and yes, maybe even my eye. It’s all connected up there, anyway.

I ignored it at first, and realized when I got to my improv class that evening that the problem wasn’t going away.  I attributed the redness to the fact that I was wearing a sheddy sweater all day or that I’d been decorating my office (both true) and that I must have got something in my eye. It was my last improv class for this term, and I’d already agreed to celebrate with my classmates at the local watering hole.

They said: “Go wash your eye out and let’s go!”

I obliged.   And still I thought nothing of it.

The next morning at 4am, I woke up and my eye was swollen and leaking puss. I realized then the problem might be a bit more severe than initially assessed.  Yet, I didn’t think it worthy of skipping work.

Eventually, I’d had enough of my colleagues asking me what was wrong with my eye and telling me that I should go see a doctor and looking at me like I was a wounded puppy.

I went to the local walk-in clinic, right as they were off for lunch and got shoo’d away by one of the workers there.  Literally, shoo’d.  By someone.  Who works in a medical clinic.  A human being.

Disheartened, and itchy and eye-rubby as all hell, I returned to the office and decided I couldn’t stay anymore.  I drove home.  Traffic on the DVP has never been better. I was able to get an appointment with my actual doctor/nurse practitioner, who diagnosed me with pink eye.

Then she gave me flu shot.  I’ve already had the flu this year.

Afterwards, I lay on the cold hard floor of the community health centre bathroom to avoid passing out, given my irrational fear of needles.  Immediately after that,  a nutritionist informed me how to eat breakfast and lunch.

So, smart?

It’s funny how good some girls are at faking it.

It’s not funny how much I love maple fudge.

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