My cell phone rings yesterday and it’s the San Diego Blood Bank:
“We see that you gave blood last year and we’re running very low on your type.”
“Less than a day supply.”
“Can I come in on Friday?”
[pause] “Well, we’ve got a bleeder.”
So I went in at lunch yesterday and had a latex and steel mosquito bleed me out. The tap they put in my arm stung for most of the time, but I manned up and toughed it out. I mean, it couldn’t be as bad as childbirth. Am I right, ladies?
I’ll leave you with one final image that haunts me. I see this room in my future. I see myself teetering on a ladder in 90-degree heat and hanging rose-patterned wallpaper. “Daddy, you’re not DOING it right!”