Disclaimer: I'm On Cold Meds

I'm sick. Which stinks, but also gives me the opportunity to blog on cold meds. You're welcome world! Every time I tell my father that I am sick he gives me the same advice: "wrap a hot towel around your head." That's right, my father consistently quotes awesome movies from the 80's. Anyone... anyone... anyone? I've never actually followed this advice because it seems like it's not worth the effort. Instead I usually just overdose on a mixture of Aleve D and NyQuil. My sister informed me yesterday that I can get a stronger dose of naproxen and pseudoephedrine by mixing my own cocktail of drugs, which kind of worried me and kind of amazed me and kind of made me want to try it, all at the same time. Instead I'm choosing to write about why my little sister is funny.

The story goes that she was 11, and I was 15. My father and I were exchanging witty banter and Megan tried to throw her two cents in. My father looked at her and said, "you are pretty and smart, but you aren't very funny." Apparently this was the most devastating thing in the world to say to her, she claims she cried herself to sleep that night. In all fairness, being funny is a pretty big deal at our house, and she was clearly the least funny out of us. It wasn't her fault, she was the youngest, by the time she came along the sarcasm quota had been filled. Megan vowed that night that she would become a funny person, and 4 years later, we were driving in the car when she make a joke. My father totally validated her by declaring her a funny person, and 4 years of the study of humor was finally realized. The thing about my sister is that she is really busy, like insanely busy, she didn't have time to stop to think of funny things to say, until recently. Taking a mind numbing job has freed up some brain space and we have been exchanging some pretty awesome emails over the last few weeks. For example:

Her
I like getting my teeth cleaned but it is incredible how many pictures they feel like they need of my teeth. It's like a 40 minutes photo session of my teeth. I have nice teeth and yet they always tell me that I'm brushing my teeth wrong. Whatever. At least I brush them. The dental hygienist told me that there was quite a bit of bleeding. I wanted to say "That's because you were stabbing my gums with that mini pitch fork of yours!" But instead I said ok. And then she gave me a mirror and began tutoring me on how to properly brush my teeth and floss. I feel so patronized when I go to the dentist. I'm really just bitter because they didn't tell me that I have great teeth. They should lie to me to make me feel better.
My Response

Remember the awesome old man dentist who worked out of a house in Moses Lake and had instruments so old he had to use his foot to pump the water? He always said our teeth were beautiful. I loved him. Then he died. Your dentist dying is a totally traumatic experience. Partly because it’s a pain to change insurance info and you have to go to that stupid post appointment evaluation every time you find a new guy, but also because someone is dead and their entire relationship with you had to do with them putting their fingers in your mouth. I think the next time they tell you that you bled a lot you should kick them in the mouth and tell them the same thing.

Side Note: This email thread started by talking about Gypsies and ended with dead dentists. 

We also had a discussion about how dating a guy who kills a coyote on Christmas then texts a picture of it to you is a deal-breaker. That's too specific to be made-up. 

And this picture was passed around:

  I like to send her pictures of things that will make her co-workers wonder about her correspondence.