Thursday, April 24, 2008

Mame Has The Consumption or Maybe It's Just The Flu. HAVE SOME DRAMA!

Via AIM:

Bea: HI!

Mame: hello. i am SO sick.

Bea: What's wrong with you? DO NOT DIE. You are NOT ALLOWED to DIE. NO DYING!!

Mame: Well, the doctor says that it's a sinus infection and don't need a prescription but CLEARLY, I have tuberculosis and only have a few weeks to live.

Bea: NO. I am NOT ready to go on the John Edward show.*

Mame: My doctor confirmed the sad, sad news. And even though she held my knee and said, "Look me in the eye, for the LAST TIME: THIS IS NOT TUBERCULOSIS!" But, I knew what she really meant was, "Mame, I'm sorry but it is tuberculosis and it is incurable."

Bea: HA HA HA, ILU and I'm sending you red silk handkerchiefs right now...

Mame: And when the doctor said, "Mame, even if it were TB, which I cannot say more than enough times that it is not, TB is treatable now. But it's not. TB. It's NOT." But what I heard was, "I hope you enjoy the dry state of Arizona."

Bea: And when she said, "No, you're not contagious," all you heard was, "DO NOT EVER kiss your husband or child again, for fear of contaminating them with your infliction."

Mame: When I showed her the bloody mucus, all she could say was, "Mame, FIRST OF ALL, warn a girl before you shove that in her face and secondly, that's a normal side effect of coughing," but again, all I heard was, "Mame...I'm sorry, please dedicate your memoirs to me."

Bea: Then when she said, "No, you don't need a prescription," what you heard was, "No, nothing can help you, except perhaps a good bleeding. Here, let me fetch the leeches..."

Mame: When I held the Hand of Death during a coughing fit, it said, "Excuse me? Miss? I'm just the janitor. I can't...seriously, let me go!" but what I heard was, "I am Almighty Death, but I realize that it is not your time. Yet."

Bea: HAHAHAHAHA. That wasn't the receptionist at the front desk in white scrubs. IT WAS AN ANGEL, OK? AN ANGEL WITH A SCHEDULING BOOK, SHUT UP.

Mame: Heheh.

Bea: And I will come visit you in the sanitorium and read to you from edifying novels that will raise your spirits. Um, the Bible? Or Us Weekly?

Mame: DUH. You will read to me from AVONLEA. HELLO.

Bea: Of course I will!

*We have always said that when one of us dies, the other will go on John Edward's show. (The psychic, not the cute politician) and raise a ruckus until we get to talk to each other. Fuck that rose stuff, trust me, he won't need to interpret a thing. Heheheh.

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