Some of you know I'm going away for a few days because my 22 year old daughter is having hernia surgery. Okay, it's not a brain transplant, but it's still surgery under general anesthesia. It's "Day Surgery" now. The kind of surgery you used to spend several days in the hospital for.
She acts likes she going for a flu shot. She's not stupid. She's applying to Ph.D. programs. This was tonight's conversation:
Me: "Honey, give me a couple of phone numbers of your friends. I'm going to need some help getting you from the car to your room when we come home from the hospital." (Her house is up a steep hill--think Everest--and I'll be parking at the bottom of it.)
Daughter: "MOM DON'T TELL ME THAT. I'll be fine! I'll be fine! We don't need any help! If I can't get up that hill, I'll do whatever you tell me for the rest of my life!"
Daughter: "Can we go out for dinner afterwards?"
Me: "The night of surgery? No."
Daughter: "WHY NOT? I'LL BE FINE! YOU'RE FULL OF ANXIETY AND BAD VIBES."
Me: "You can have some chicken soup and gingerale."
Daughter: "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING," shrieking into the phone.
Daughter: "When I get to the hospital do I have to take my clothes off?"
Me: "No. Of course not. "
So this weekend, while most of you are snarfing down turkey, think of me. Some people say I was just like that when I was her age. But they're wrong. I WAS NOT!