In awe of her narrative ability

I've been savoring these two paragraphs for almost a week, letting them roll around in my head for a while before I shared them with the world.

From Finslippy:

Yesterday at 5:30 a.m., I was awakened by the Mother of All Bladder Infections. "Come into the bathroom," she whispered into my ear. "I have something to show you." I won't even tell you what that bitch did to me in there, but it was gruesome. Somehow I managed to live until 9 a.m., when my doctor's office opened, and the nurses hoisted me off the stoop and into an examining room.

I love my doctor because he's not at all nonchalant about illnesses. He is always highly alarmed by my condition, whatever it is, as if he'd never seen anything like it before. Strangely, I find this reassuring. If I'm in pain, I don't want my medical specialist to poo-poo my discomfort. So when he gasped in horror at the sight of my urine specimen--just eyeballing it made him gasp, kids! It didn't look good!--I kind of wanted to kiss him full on the mouth. It would have made an adorable story for our future children. Unfortunately we're both married, and my husband was fretting in the waiting room. Our love, it cannot be.

And by the way, "finslippy" is one of those words that gets stuck in my head and repeats and repeats, despite the fact that it doesn't mean anything. Stupid thing has been bouncing around for days. And now that I've written about it, I'm guaranteed at least a few more days. Sigh.