My soft spot for holiday stories began years ago when my sister and I were working at a Christian book store (yep). One of the (many) Pentecostal ladies who worked with us had been listening to Talk Radio again and heard a story she just had to tell us about. Two poor (White Republican Christian was the subtext, if memory serves me) have a really sick kid on Christmas Eve. They take him to the ER and get turned away, the doctors saying he just needs some OTC loving. The next morning, the parents find the little 3-yr old curled up under the Christmas tree ... dead.
It's not even that this kid dies. It's that he's this little kid and you know how your body just aches so bad when you have the flu? Don't you imagine this itty bitty kid crawling under the Christmas tree, hoping Mr. Nutcracker or Santa or maybe the angel on top of his tree will provide some relief? Gah, that's what always gets me. And my sister and I talked about that story for years. We still do, actually (hence this post).
But the best part of my day wasn't the umpteen billion tests they ran today. It was my door prize. This:
What is that? It's the bio-hazard jug I get to store my urine in for the next 24 hours. The worst part? I have to keep it in the fridge. So, instead of trying to warn Dustin and Justin (who I suspect have a secret lab somewhere in this house) about the hazardous acids they put in to react with the urine, I'm just sticking a post it on the top that says "Nanny's Pee".