So, uh, sorry about that entry last night. I’m having a wee little problem that sometimes occurs when your hormones are outta whack.
No, I’m not talking about the PMS-ish mood swings (many thanks and big smooches to those who were unfortunate enough to encounter me last night) or the other bizarre symptoms that the hormonal rollercoaster sometimes creates. I’m talking about the circle of hell that rhymes with beast. (Men: this is your cue to run.)
It’s been so long since I had one of those lovely episodes that I probably didn’t catch it right away. So when I did, I said to myself (“Self, I said…”) Gee, how odd. I shall swallow some of this here Diflucan and that shall be dandy! So I did.
The next morning I felt a little worse. So I had another Diflucan and went to work. Where I then spent the entire day trying not to think about the fact that I was ALL ITCHY in places that SHOULD NOT ITCH.
By the time I got home I was miserable. And I couldn’t understand why the Diflucan wasn’t working. So I checked the bottle. Hey! This stuff expired a long time ago! Ha ha! So not even a little funny!
So I called my friend the Medical Professional for sympathy and perhaps some help. “Are you sure it’s a yeast infection?” she asked. “Maybe you have a STD!” (Sweetie, if you’re reading this: you SO owe me.) As I sat there simultaneously trying not to scratch and also sending fiery rays of THAT IS NOT EVEN A LITTLE FUNNY through the phone, she scrambled to say something that was little more sensitive. I’m not sure I like her any more. (Seriously, consider grovelling.)
Anyway, I managed to get the neighbor girl over here to watch TV while the kids slept so that I could run to the pharmacy, and so I picked up a few random things as well because, well, I was there, and also I hate to check out with a single item that screams I HAVE A DISGUSTING PROBLEM RIGHT THIS MOMENT. The checkout girl started chatting with me about the design of my Discover Card, and it took every ounce of restraint I had not to tell her that I love nothing more than an inane bit of patter while I’m buying vaginal antifungals, but that I was sort of in a hurry on account of I was dangerously close to promising God that I would never ever have sex again if he would just make this go away right now, please and thank you, amen.
So, um, yeah. Yesterday was not my favorite day.
But–please read in your best Monty Python voice–“I got better!”