Remember when I said I was afraid to come to New Orleans since every time I did so, the estimate for the completion date of the renovation of my house here slips back a little farther? Well, if you paid a little attention, you’d remember. Anyway, sure enough I got here last night and less than 24 hours later, Sister Mary Legs in the Air broke the news that the newest deadline is May 24. When I was here in January, it was “the end of April.” Adding an element of specificity does not fool me; this house will never know my loving touch.
Again, it’s my own fault for slipping into town, but honestly I had to. Our dearest old chum, Magda, is ensconced in the hospital right now with his blood chemistry all whacked out. I was trying to be helpful at a delicious lunch today with Magda’s boyfriend after we had spent the morning with the old thing and saying how important phosphorus was to the body’s function, which might or might not be true, but what I was trying to say was “potassium” not “phosphorous.” Yeah, that’s what you need girl, get your phosphorous up and we’ll light you like a torch. No wonder no one takes me seriously.
Truly, though, it’s troubling to see someone sick who’s closer to my heart than the riff raft I’m related to by blood even if we did share an amusing afternoon swapping stories about phlebotomists and catheters. If ever there was a convincing argument for euthanasia, it’s two old queens who have a connoisseur’s insight into emergency rooms.
So is this the kind of shenanigans that are holding up the renovation of my house?
If so, they’re going on without me and I RESENT IT.