Trapped in Coach with a Nazi

So, I think this whole "class reunion/looking up dead people/preparing memorials for them thing is getting to me.  I dreamed my boy dead yesterday.  Not the first time I've done that (about the fourth, I think), but this was was particularly rough because I couldn't make it stop.  I'm on my knees, touching the glass over his face (horrid, cheap glass-topped coffin), and willing the dream to stop, but it won't.  Waiting for that rising sensation that tells me, "Oh, okay, this is a dream, and I'm waking up now."  It didn't come.  Not for a long time.  Not until I had come to the devastating realization that it wasn't a dream.  I wasn't crying when I woke up, but boy, I sure was after I awoke.  My boy came in, hugged me, and I had the sinking feeling THAT was the dream, you know?  That he really was dead, and I was dreaming he wasn't.  I cried a lot, and it left a shadow on the rest of my day.

Today, I didn't kill anyone in my dream, but I did dream reunion.  The whole time.  When I'm drifting, I dream Photoshop and Excel because of all the memorials and spreadsheet work I've been doing, but once asleep, I dreamed miserable "hammering out the details" stuff.  Bill showing off his fancy 10 inch Galaxy tab, and me feeling like I was expected to explain why I've only got a wi-fi iPad 3 (I won it in a contest, if you're wondering).  That self-aggrandizing wanna-be actress, Wendy, was there playing bad wanna-be Irish folk songs to anyone she thought might be impressed while Melanie floated authoritatively about in a flowing mu-mu, declaring this and that.  Except she kept turning into the other Melanie--the poor, breathtakingly tall, kind, acne-scarred girl who had such a hellish time in school.  Trying to figure out how I was going to broach with Bill just what a crappy, scary, high-crime area he lived in, and how hosting a huge class reunion in his front yard was probably NOT a good idea.

I may be too absorbed in this.

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You  know, we watched an excellent six (?) part documentary on Auschwitz a couple of weeks ago.  Mostly for our boy's benefit, but I admit, I learned things I hadn't known, too.  It was very well done, and I really recommend it:

  

There was one part that I had a hard time explaining to my boy.  How one of the women interviewed, a camp survivor, could tear up and talk about how terrible it was to return to her family's home after the war and find it occupied by people who wouldn't let her in, who wouldn't give her back her home.  In effect, the Poles moved into these Jewish homes and, when the true owners came home (those few who did), they saw nothing wrong with saying, "No, go away, this is my home now."  Horrible, no?  Yet this woman, and so many like her, seem to completely miss the horrifying hypocrisy of descending upon Palestine, violently driving the Palestinians from their homes and out of the country or into camps, moving onto their farms, their orchards, their neighborhoods, and then condemning them for wanting their homes BACK.  Labeling them "terrorists" (a term Israelis once used to describe themselves in their attacks against British soldiers and Palestinians) for fighting back against occupation, exile, and murder.  My boy was angry--how can she not see?  How can they not see that the very thing they're (rightfully) decrying in this documentary (not being allowed back into their homes, being robbed of all they had) is what they have visited upon the Palestinians?

It was hard.  It was very hard, finding a way to explain that because, objectively, there is no excuse for it.  But we explored it together, and here's what we came up with:

Maybe, after being exposed to pain, terror, horror, and suffering to that extreme degree, you lose sight of the suffering of others.  Maybe it becomes nearly impossible to really empathize with others because you have been viciously tempered to focus on your own survival and the survival of those you consider your own. Maybe you come to view your group as more deserving of good because you've suffered such bad.  Maybe you become so focused upon the goals and hopes and dreams of your people that you completely lose sight of how achieving those things affects others.

Maybe you stop seeing the humanity in others because you were treated so very inhumanely yourself.

It was a good talk.  No, it doesn't make me any less determined in my defense of the Palestinians or my condemnation of Israeli apartheid, but it did bring me in from a different angle, and it was eye-opening.

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Speaking of Auschwitz, I was reminded of my flight home from Frankfurt back in 1995.  Unlike the heavenly flight TO Frankfurt, which left me sharing coach (smoking coach, even--I smoked a LOT back then) with only two other people, the flight home wasn't a red-eye, and it was PACKED.  Jammed in next to me?  A small German woman who spent hours explaining, excusing, and flat-out lying about the camps.  The extermination.  The "Final Solution."  How I had to understand how much better things were for the German people while this was going on.  How there was finally WORK for the Germans (yikes), how the Jews had brought so much of it on themselves (an argument always guaranteed to bring up my hackles, regardless of the victims' ethnicity), how the "holocaust" was nothing more than a Jewish media creation, and, finally, how, if we Americans really understood Gypsies/the Romany people, we'd know that anyplace with fewer Gypsies is a better place.  As for homosexuals?

She grimaced and made an ugly "Tchah!" noise.  

I was very lucky when I was a teen.  I had a friend whose mother was German.  Her name was Inga (Ingaborg), and her family had been Lutheran, though they converted to Mormonism when they fled Germany.  Yes, fled.  See, the German military started making noises about inducting boys, and Inga's family had no intention of becoming a part of what Hitler was doing.  When the questions about their ideology became pointed, they fled in the night.  They eventually wound up in Utah, where their family spent weekends traveling to Topaz, the site of a Japanese internment camp, to bring food, clothing, games, and blankets.  She said they lived in terror that, after fleeing Germany, they would wind up in an AMERICAN camp because of their German-ness.  Inga taught me a LOT about Germany, Naziism, war, and she was the first person to ever speak to me about Japanese internment camps.  No public school did that for me.  With that grounding, I was finally inspired to look at my Frankfurt to Camden row-mate and say, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm all done listening--you defend the indefensible, and worse, you paint victims as deserving.  You should almost certainly shut up now."

It's probably a good thing I don't speak German, because she responded energetically in her mother tongue.

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The dog's first training session is tonight.  Four months was all we could scrounge together for, and it's going to have to be enough.  He's already "trained" in that he does tricks, he comes when he's called, he stays when he's told, and he even "self disciplines."  You know, he growls at the TV, then jumps down and slinks off to his kennel without being told.  He's great with people (even with the house full of new folks we had last month, he was in heaven).  His problem?  He's not so good with other dogs.  He CAN be--if the circumstances are right, he's completely thrilled to run and play with new dogs.  But his greetings are inappropriate (a lot of tugging and whining, which degenerates to growling when he can't get in close to sniff), and other dogs interpret it as aggression.  So we're hoping to teach him how to better interact with other dogs.  Barring that, we're hoping to teach him to not respond at all.  Wish us luck!  Wish HIM luck!

Oh, and in case you're wondering, there will be NONE of that "Dog Whisperer" claptrap!  Our dog isn't a WOLF, we're not WOLVES, and that silly "alpha roll" crap is no way to treat a dog.  

Our Charlie is the Cairn in front.  That's Charley, the Corgi, behind.  One of Charlie's successful doggy encounters.

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And that's it!  Day two of mostly meatless.  Last night's stir-fry?  Bleh.  Bland.  And that's not because of the missing meat, that's because I was limited, sodium-wise, to two tablespoons of "less sodium" soy sauce.  So things were very plain. The rice mix was tasty (Wegmans whole grain five rice blend), and the peppers were good, but overall it just wasn't very satisfying.  It was filling, though.  Definitely that.  Tomorrow night, we're going to try the "Don't Have a Cow" imitation ground beef crumbles with tacos.  See, I can't do fake meat by itself because I like meat.  But in a taco, surrounded by salsa, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion?  I'm thinking it'll be just fine.

It's always something scary. Or irritating.

So, our boy had an appointment for a panoramic dental x-ray today.  You see, a year ago, he had one done, which revealed a small "radiolucent spot with a radiopaque outer rim."  Or some such crap.  We took him to an oral surgeon, much to Blue Cross's chagrin, who didn't want to do much of anything.  He said that, with the placement (directly under the roots of his bottom incisors), anything he did would be potentially devastating.  He recommended a "watch and wait" approach.  He recommended x-rays in a year.

So here we are.  The small spot below the incisors?  The same.  But now there is a much larger, irregularly shaped radiopaque spot underneath our boy's wisdom tooth and extending to just below the adjacent molar.  #31, I believe.  This is big, it's not tiny like the thing under the incisors.  So it's back to the oral surgeon.  The dentist said "it might just be swelling from the wisdom tooth starting to impact," but this is the same dentist who totally missed my salivary stones and insisted that pulling our boy's deciduous canine wouldn't inspire the adult tooth to come in (even though, a year earlier, that's exactly what his old dentist did for the canine on the other side, and it worked).  So I don't know.

I don't know.

What I do know?  Is that we don't have dental insurance.  We have GEHA, which is a supplemental thing, but when you're knocking a three grand bill down to fifteen hundred, it's still a grand more than you have.  No idea how much this is going to cost, only know that we don't have it.  But we have to know what's going on here.  Our insurance really balked at covering the Oral Surgeon last time, tried very hard to insist it was DENTAL, which they don't cover.

Oh, sweetie.  Be okay.  Please.

Today's x-ray, unmarked

And labeled for your viewing pleasure

So, the dog's training is paid for.  I actually thought we were going to wait a month, see how my medical stuff comes out, but it's done now.  Gotta tell you, I don't want a pelvic, I don't want a mammogram, I don't want to step on that scale and have to feel like hell about myself.  But I DO want the CLEAR results of that mammogram, I DO want someone to say, "Everything looks normal," and I absolutely NEED my metoprolol script re-upped.  And if I don't go for the pelvic, then I have to go to the GP/PCP and ask HER, and I sure don't want to do that.

Medical care exhausts me.  Co-pays exhaust me.  But, being someone who's lived without health insurance for long periods?  It could be worse.  I recognize that.  

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Been reading a lot about the Steubenville rapists.  Been seeing all the sympathy rolling their way.  

Because, hey, if you can't blame the victim, who CAN you blame?  Not the RAPISTS, clearly.

Let's get something straight here--no matter what she wears, says, does, no matter how she acts or how much she drinks, no matter where she walks, drives, or passes out, the RAPIST is the one who calls the tune, the RAPIST is the one who decides to RAPE.  I don't want to hear about the rapists' promising athletic careers or academic whatever-the-hells or, gosh, how sad that they'll be registered sex offenders.  What else do you suggest they register as?  They are, after all, SEX OFFENDERS.  Stop acting like they're poor little victims.  Their poor little victim had her name, her reputation, and her very life strewn out and torn to bits in court in defense of rapists.

Of rapists.

If you don't like rape, don't rape.  If you don't want your sons serving time for rape, teach them not to rape.  Teach them to respect women--all women.  Teach them that their hands and their penises stay to themselves unless expressly invited.  Teach them that alcohol poisoning and Rohypnol  are not forms of consent.  Unconscious or barely conscious can NEVER give consent.  

Period.

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Hubby picked up The Hobbit on Blu Ray last night.  From what I understand, the wonky 48 frames per second gig won't translate.  I get the feeling I'm glad about that.  Just finished watching it, and I'll get into it tomorrow.  Not feeling all that charitable tonight, will probably be less critical after a night's sleep.

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I want to take a moment to discuss "slactivism."  You know, the whole "I clicked a button, I forwarded an email, I shared a meme, I've DONE something!" thing that seems so common these days.  

Hey, I share memes--not because I think I'm raising money or making change.  I know better.  I share memes because they're funny or because they reflect my feelings about something, and I share them with folks I know likely share my opinion.  Every once in a while, if I know someone's open or on the fence, I'll share something that I think might nudge them over.  If it's something not wildly inflammatory or insulting, that is.  I don't consider that "slactivism" because I don't think I'm being an "activist," I don't think I'm accomplishing anything other than amusing myself and my friends.

I guess, to me, the term "slactivism" refers to people who post a meme (or a magnetic ribbon on their SUV) and feel they've done something, like their obligation to be active and humanitarian has been fulfilled.  You know, with stupid crap like this:

Which came with the following stupid caption:  

I am not asking you to hit like but i am asling

you to please Share .

Poor baby Suffering from Cancer , For every

share of this pic , Facebook will donate $1 to

the parents of this baby .

___________Sharing will Take Secs ___________

_______________ Please Help____

Okay, folks?  People?  Please?  This sort of thing is ALWAYS BS, okay?  ALWAYS.  Facebook/Microsoft/Apple/FEMA/Walmart/WHOMEVER is NOT going to donate WHATEVER amount to WHATEVER sick baby based upon your clicks, forwards, or shares.

Period.  So stop it.  You're like a virus, you just eat up bandwidth and waste people's time.  Stop it.

STOP IT!

On a related note?  "LIKE this soldier/baby/child-in-a-wheelchair/legless-dancer/bedraggled puppy, SCROLL if you hate them" memes?  Those are also not activism, they don't accomplish anything, and trying to guilt people into sharing your stupid crap is . . . well, it's stupid crap.  Stop that, too.

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And now that I'm all done yelling about stuff, do me a favor?  Check out my comparative reviews of CAMERAS and CHOCOLATE.  Because they really do go together, and if it weren't for cameras and chocolate, I'm not sure life would be worth living.

And that's all, I think.  Except for some bad paneling.  I know, I know, I promised bad RED paneling, but that's on my iPad, and I haven't sent it over yet.  Until I do, have some turquoise with  . . . is that coral?  Salmon?  LOL, what ever it is, it's perfectly precious!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

"The Lord is Not on Trial Here Today"

Stumbled across a story today.  A story that, as an atheist in America, I should have known.  I confess, I was ignorant, and for that I am more than a little ashamed.

The story is about a woman named Vashti McCollum.  A hero by any definition, and I mean ANY.  The woman who, single-handedly, gave teeth to our Constitution's "establishment" clause.  Well, maybe not SINGLE-handedly--her eldest son, James, certainly had a hand in it, as did an attorney or two and her loving family who stood by her.

Vashti Cromwell McCollum, photo via University of Missouri-Kansas City

In a nutshell, Vashti (I use the familiar because she is suddenly and now forever dear to me) felt that religion classes (and these were, make no mistake BIBLE classes, not "comparative religious history" classes) that left abstaining children (like her eldest son) sitting at the "bad kid/detention" desk out in the hall for an hour a day, exposing the children to pressure, ridicule, and ostracism (from fellow students and teachers alike), were a violation of the Constitution.  She believed that public property and public monies shouldn't be used to promote or sponsor a religion.  Something we now view as a no-brainer, an "of COURSE" sort of thing, but back then (in the 1940s) Americans were very into conformity and the idea that it wasn't okay to force others to adhere to their particular faith was strange to them.  Vashti approached the school board and requested that the classes, which were relatively new to the district, be discontinued.  They refused, and she took it to court.

Her family was tortured.  Literally.  She was pelted with rotten vegetables by "good Christians."  Her family's cat was hanged.  Rocks were hurled.  Their home was picketed.  Her children were beaten and viciously bullied.  They were denied service at local businesses.  Her eldest boy, James, was finally put on a train and sent to live with her parents in New York State because the abuse had become so terrifying and the school district's attorney had painted him a problem child who brought the abuse and bullying down on himself--an opinion trumpeted by the local media.  The Illinois State House attempted to pass legislation barring atheists from working in State universities and colleges (this bill was dropped when they discovered she'd already been dismissed from her job).  No one would give her employment.  Her husband, who was a professor at the local college, feared losing his job.

It was the very persecution some American Christians claim to experience today as they freely worship, display symbols of their faith, rule the airwaves, open public meetings, local and national, with prayers, and openly declare their faith.  As always, I scoff at their manipulative, disingenuous claims.  American Christians don't know the meaning of the word "persecution."

The practical upshot?  Well, I strongly recommend you watch the Bill Moyers documentary I've got linked up below.  But if you don't have 56 minutes to spare?  Vashti bravely pushed through legal defeats to take the case to the United States Supreme Court.  The result?  Well, you don't see any Bible classes in public schools anymore, do you?

Vashti died in 2006 at the age of 93.  Wish I'd known her, feel like she's mine.  And yesterday?  Was the 65th anniversary of McCollum vs Board of Education.

Watch "The Lord is Not on Trial Here Today" For a Limited Time | BillMoyers.com

Don't like what she fought for?  Fine, but you cannot deny her bravery.

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We've decided to blow the cash on training for Charlie.  It's going to be very harsh, financially, but we really do want to be able to take him places again.  We used to, all the time.  We used to walk him in DC, used to take him everywhere.  He's great with people, but he's become increasingly "reactive" with other dogs, and the worse he gets, the less we take him out, and the less we take him out, the worse he gets.  So we're going to drop the cash (ouch!) and undertake 16 weeks of training.  Honestly, if 16 weeks can't improve him, we'll just have to deal with having a yappy, growly rat dog.  Like no one ever sees any of THOSE around, right?

Charlie, after being groomed half to death

I was going to apologize for the history lesson, but got to thinking about it.  Why should I?  I crawl around the web sampling many blogs, and a vast number are dedicated to celebrating or forwarding a particular religious or ideological bent.  I have no religious bent--as the meme says, calling atheism a religion is like calling NOT collecting stamps a hobby or NOT shooting heroin an addiction.  Atheism is my lack of faith.  It is my absence of belief.  And, sometimes, I'm going to talk about it.

If that's a problem, move on.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Reactive Dogs and Money Woes

So, we've found maybe a place to have Charlie's "reactiveness" worked on.  It's pricey--250 bucks for eight weeks of work, but it's a class with a rolling enrollment, so dogs in all stages of training, and if he improves enough, he can roll into a more advanced class with no additional charge.  Unlike the in-town option, this one does not rely upon the "dog whisperer" stuff, which encourages punishment and forced submission which is an incredibly bad idea.  We want Charlie to improve, not shut down.  We can't afford it now, but we'll make a decision after we discover whether or not those buckets o' puke on Capitol Hill are going to put us in the poor house next month.

Speaking of dog training, I found this guy, who goes by the moniker "David the Dog Trainer," on YouTube.  This is the sort of thing I'm hoping for--gentle, firm, no abuse, no "forced alpha rolls" and other BS wolf analogies.  Dogs aren't wolves, and forcing a dog into a terrifying position as a way to mandate submission is just foolish.



When Charlie was just new, we took him to Petco for his first vaccinations.  It wasn't fun, it was crowded with large, lunging bully breeds and screaming mini-dogs, but it was cheap, and we needed cheap.  This year, we took Charlie to a nice clinic that does lower-cost vaccines--a step up from Petco, but half the price of our regular vet.  But then yesterday, an automated call came from Petco, reminding us that Charlie is due for vaccinations and letting us know when the next session is scheduled, No pressure, a nice little "and if you've already had your pet vaccinated, please disregard this message."  Good business, nice thought.

I found an old elementary school class picture the other day--scanned it and posted it to Facebook, tagging who I could.  Sadly, two people who were in that class (and were on my Facebook friends list) have, in the past year, ditched me, with D blocking me.  I can only assume that my support of President Obama and active contribution to the the "don't elect Mitt" movement angered her.  Didn't have her pegged for the kind of person who would dump and block over politics when I repeatedly offered to set up a separate posting list for folks who didn't want to see those politics, but perhaps she was having a bad day.  Or maybe she was embarrassed to ask me to spare her the posts.  Whichever, I asked that others who might be in touch with her pass the picture on.  It was nice to see folks come in and share memories about that school year, and it's amazing to me that I am in contact with so many folks I knew back in 1976.  Astounding that I still remember every name and every face this far down the road.

That's Mr. Anderson.  He had an amazing pinned bug collection, pet tarantulas, thrilling stories about black widows in his barn I still remember, and once brought in a mason jar with a live wolf spider carrying an egg sac.  He told us he was going to pin her, egg sac and all, in his collection.  I spirited her out of the classroom during lunch one day and released her in the Fitzer shrubs out front of the school.  No, I was never found out.

wolf spider with egg sac

I so adored Mr. Anderson, and he was the first teacher I ever came to realize DIDN'T like me.  In fact, he disliked me pretty strongly.  It was crushing, and yet it's a tribute to Mr. Anderson that he was fair and kind to me even though he didn't like me.  He was an outstanding educator.  Also crushing was losing a friend that year--she'd made friends with the new girl, and the new girl went on to steal my camera from my cubbyhole.  Yes, the good ol' days when you could leave something like a camera in an unlocked, wide-open cubbyhole.  I was so devastated when my friend took up for the thief that, in utterly inappropriate aggression borne of frustration and heartbreak, I grabbed my friend by the hair and yanked out a handful.  Not one of my proudest moments, but I was in 5th grade.  I'd like to think I'm a little better at communicating these days.

Not a long one today--it's laundry night.  And garbage night.  A couple of things I'd like to talk about, like wombats.  Seriously.  But for now, we'll just leave it at bad paneling.  Really, superbly, "paneling in the kitchen" bad paneling.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Zombies, Vampires, and Chicken Selects

The past few days, my blog hits have surged.  I know, "surged" is actually a strong term, but when you go from 30-40 hits a day to over a hundred, that's a surge.  Ever curious as to who's getting here and how (if y'all would leave more comments, I'd have an easier time figuring that one out), I took a look at my detailed stats.  Most of my traffic sources look pretty benign--Google, yahoo, a few other blogs where I've left comments or I'm following.

But then there were two whose very names sound anything but benign.  Vampirestat and Zombiestat.

Don't they sound absolutely malevolent?  Yeah, I thought so, too, so instead of CLICKING on them, I did a websearch ABOUT them.  I found a very helpful piece at Spam Spoiler detailing who these malicious-sounding visitors are and what, if anything, they mean.

Practical upshot?  They don't mean anything, but don't click back.

Took Charlie to the clinic for his annual shots and a totally unnecessary heartworm test.  Test negative, shots given, and, once again, Charlie reminds us that he needs some professional training. He's great with people, he loves everyone, he's happy and tail waggy yet obedient and good.  It's other dogs.  Charlie's not so good with them.  Usually, he's good with them if he can get in close EARLY ON and say "hi."  All curvy body and happy wags.  But if he can't get close?  The barking starts.  And sometimes?  The growling and snarling.  I tie this back a lousy experience at a dog park where Charlie got his behind kicked by a much larger dog that wouldn't back off him.  He got hurt, and then he got cornered, and finally he exploded into a blur of teeth and screams.  To his credit, he did everything he could to get away from the dog, and we did everything we could to get the larger dog away from him.  It was a mess, and after that, Charlie's been very wary and iffy about larger dogs.  It didn't help that, a few minutes earlier, Charlie had been very friendly with a nasty chihuahua mix who had gotten incredibly aggressive and scary with him.  There are places around here (not Petsmart!) that offer training geared to dogs who have issues with other dogs.  We're just going to have to bite the bullet and make that investment.

Charlie with a dog park friend named Charley

Came across an article tonight about McDonald's and their flagging sales.  In an attempt to improve things, McD's is ditching their Chicken Selects and considering doing away with their Angus Burgers.  Now, we used to eat a lot of McDonalds back in the day.  In fact, when our boy was very small, we had to refer to it as "The Scottish Restaurant" in conversation, else he'd start screaming that he wanted to go.  Before you peg us gawdawful parents, understand he hated their food.  He wouldn't touch those McNuggets or any other meat product there.  He would eat a small order of fries and drink a small juice.  He was in it for the Playland.

Not exactly "our" Playland, but very close

Our boy would spend as many hours as we would allow him in Playland.  The ball pit, the tunnels, the slides.  Even the rope-climbing hill in back that brought you to the higher levels (understand, he was terrified of any height where he could see the ground through mesh or grid).  That rope hill played an integral part of me almost getting the daylights beaten out of me by some guy whose wayyyy-too-big-to-be-in-Playland daughter had kicked my then-three year-old down from the top, and maybe someday I'll tell that tale.  For now, suffice to say that our boy was hooked, and any attempt to get him to leave was met with screaming, kicking, and all-around freaking out.   Hence "The Scottish Restaurant."

Anyway, the article!  I found it funny that those are the two menu items they're looking to nuke because those are the only two menu items we ever buy.  Understand, we haven't been to a McDonald's since we grabbed a cup of coffee and two sodas at Air and Space back in October of 2011 or so.  Makes me wonder--did our lack of patronage actually affect them?  Or is it a sign that now there's REALLY no reason to go to McDonald's?

Having Wegmans bologna and provolone sandwiches tonight on my low carb/low cal bread.  With spinach, mixed veggies, and salad.  I'm down 13 pounds last month.  If I can pull this off, it'll be the first time I've ever caught a "regain" in mid-swing and turned it around.  The grief of knowing that, had I stayed on track, I'd be 130 lbs lighter?  I need to not go there.  Wayyy too painful.  So I need to focus on the fact that, even with the screw-up, I'm 112 lbs lighter than I was three years ago.

That's something.  I can still grocery shop without a motorized cart.  THAT'S something.  I can still sleep on my side.  THAT'S something.  And my blood sugar and apnea are still good.  And THAT is a lot.  I'm going to work from there.

I managed to make my doctors' appointments for the same day next month.  Scared those petty dullwits in Congress will put my husband out of work by shutting down the government.  Then won't I feel stupid dropping those bucks on copays when we can't buy groceries?

Dang.

There was more, but I've forgotten.  Isn't that par for the course.

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ