I'm totally pissed off at my little sister because she had the nerve to go to the hospital. AGAIN.
I say "again" because she's had several trips to urgent care and the emergency room this year, all relating to secret, non-discussable and only semi-entertaining ailments. It's not that I want my sister to be in pain or anything, it's just that she's TOTALLY STEALING MY THUNDER.
Now that I'm no longer the center of attention for absolutely everyone and the fawning sentiments from friends and family have abated, I had decided to reclaim my rightful place on the Throne of Everything by reenacting my injury. TONIGHT.
I conned all the work girls into another Happy Hour and I planned to accidentally slip and fall down my basement stairs again, effectively re-cracking my skull and, once again, receiving flowers, get-well cards, homemade chicken soup, visits from my long-distance relatives, and (OF FUCKING COURSE) a refill of my oxy.
Tonight was the first Happy Hour since my injury, which was sustained in October during a Happy Hour at my house. Tonight was the chance for me to declare to the entire world that I am the Princess of Clutz! The Sheba of Schlep! The Bandit of Brain Pain!
And now my little sister has gone and fucking ruined it all.
Do you think I can just scratch off my name and re-use a get well card?
*Okay, so obviously I'm super worried about her. Don't judge, just laugh. Also, I'm the D.D. tonight because I STILL. CAN'T. IMBIBE. It's like purgatory, but waaay fucking colder.