Buffy The Bladder Slayer
Well, I'm off to the doctor. Actually a surgeon. I honestly have no idea if I need surgery, but I do know that I haven't been feeling well and this was step three.
Her name is Buffy, which gives me all kinds of joy.
If I do have to have surgery, and it is performed by a surgeon named Buffy, imagine what the stories I can tell.
"As Buffy was examining my spleen," I would say. "She found a toaster oven hidden behind my pancreas."
Oh the stories.
I have always felt sorry for folks with really goofy nicknames of their original name. My real name is Tracy, but my dad started calling me Trace when I was very young and that stuck. Christmas cards, birthday cards, e-mails, they all say Trace. Katherine Coble
asked me about this at the July bloggers meet, so I guess now is the explanation.
Tracy is such a "cheerleader-gone-to-pot" name. But it's mine and I do dig my last name so its give and take. I think mothers between 1965 and 1967 thought Tracy was "cute."
Argh. Being 40, well there is sometimes a credibility problem as I guess I'm expected to be perky.
When I was in school, and John H.
knows this story, my mother's maiden name was Hutcherson, so I was called Little Hutch for awhile after my grandfather who was also called Little Hutch. His older brother was just Hutch.
Welcome to rural America.
My nieces call me Tick, which gives me bounds of joy because A.) I love the cartoon and B.) It's a blood sucking insect and it just sort of fits.
So, If I have to have surgery by Dr. Buffy, it will amuse me (only if they med me up.)
Hopefully, Spike won't be the anesthesiologist. But if he is, I'll rise up from the dead and listen to punk rock. And he is a sexy beast, so that would be okay.
Image created here.