My Mom was in the horsepistol this weekend, so I didn’t play much Minecraft. She’s home, now. The doc said what I thought was some kind of fit was a fainting spell. Caused by they don’t know what. All her tests came back great — which is A Good Thing — but leaves her with a diagnosis of vasovagal syncope, which means she faints sometimes.
Most people do, but some people are more prone to it than other people. Apparently, my Mom is like one of those fainting goats that keel over every time you look at ’em cross-eyed. Guess I’ll have to stop looking at her cross-eyed.
ANYWAY, I have to get her fitted with a 30-day heart monitor, just to make for certain sure it isn’t a Serious Thing, so that’s next on the agenda.
Meanwhile, I can usually count on my fellow Corydonions to supply me with blog material. Here’s another transcription from the local paper’s call-in line, which I have typed just as it’s printed but reformatted as a poem.
by Anonymous Caller
This is an important issue
that effects all Harrison Countians.
There is a
hot-dog bun pincher
at (the grocery).
Every time I get
hot-dog buns (there),
my buns have been pinched
and I’m not going to take it anymore. …
Sometimes I think the callers aren’t taking this service seriously.
I’m posting at Fatal Foodies today on the topic of why pink lemonade is pink.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Someone pinches your character’s buns — in any sense you choose.