Yo, friends. In the most bloggiest of fashions (yay! remember when blogging meant keeping your friends and loved ones up on what was happening in your life, rather than what it means now, which is Write Completely Excellent Stand-Alone Column Pieces? Me, neither. But still), I am, in the quickest of morning moments, jettisoning All Things Punctuationally Proper (for one) to tell you that my dearly beloved wife Cat is, this Tuesday morning at 7 a.m., going under the knife.
I should be a complete basket case about … well, now.
She’s fine—well, actually, she’s been perpetually exhausted for about two years now. But she’s fine—and will be, after this operation, as good as new.
Oh, but yayeth!!!!
Poor thing. How she’s suffered.
I don’t want to get too precise about what kind of operation she’ll be getting, but let’s just say that afterward she’s much less likely to get too readily hysterical. Not that she was ever inclined to hysteria, actually.
Can I get an amen from anyone out there over about fifty? Cuz I know you know what I’m talkin’ bout.
God. Getting old(er) is so … weird. And awesome, of course. We’re loving it. We feel … insanely blessed.
Anyway. Right. A prayer or two on behalf of my wife Cat would of course be an extraordinary blessing to us.
Tomorrow Cat’s going to work. So I’ll post a new blog piece tomorrow around 11 a.m., let you know more of what up in our little quadrant of this big, vast phenomenon we call reality.