A Golfing Buddy’s Sympathy
The following is text messaging with my golfing buddy after I had a needle biopsy. I just had to share it.
Buddy: Did they shoot any titanium markers in so they would recognize the spot next time.
Me: Yes, I now have mental in my boob. What the hell?
I’m hoping all comes out well and sorry you had to put your boob through that.
My boob thanks you. It is feeling sorry for itself. Ate mashed potatoes with meatloaf that cures most things.
If you fly anywhere remember to tell them you have titanium boobs.
Oh okay. I doubt I’ll be flying anywhere. I hate to fly.
Just kidding. You don’t have to declare it. They are tiny.
Oh well, I always take your word as truth. Now what am I going to do?
Sid’s on to me. He doesn’t believe a word I say.
A wise man. Is that possible?
I think he stopped taking Tramadol since his new knee and has not been in as good a mood as he usually is. And he wouldn’t believe me If I mentioned it.
Well darn. Slip it in his beer.
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