Gaspare Traversi (1753)
The doc was hinting at the need to have this situation rectified surgically. (Did I really just type "rectified"?) While he was explaining the risks (minimal as I understand it) I was waving my hand in the air exclaiming, "Yes, yes, cut them out. Get rid of them, I am tired of these annual episodes which cost me time at work. Not to mention the pain."
"Yes, they can be painful..." the surgeon started to say.
"Didn't I say don't mention the pain?" Though he is not of this land originally, he's a pretty sharp guy. (Did I just type "sharp" while referring to a surgeon?) That is, he got the joke but only paused and moved on to the next topic.
Which were, his people will contact my people, er, me, they'll contact me, to inform us (again I meant me) of when the surgery will be. What to wear, when to get there and the
One might say that this will be an occasion when I'm not full of it. Shh! You know what I meant.
I'll be here all week, don't forget to tip your wait staff...
Oh, I'm sure the surgery will be nothing like that depicted above. For one thing, it's the wrong side of the abdomen and the doc swears they'll put me to sleep beforehand. He started to mention that a urologist would be stopping by to...
"I really don't need to know that Doc. Spare me the gory details and just knock me out and do your thing."
I wonder if they're gonna make me read tech manuals to put me to sleep. That usually works.
This is, by the way, a return gig. I've played this venue before. No outpatient stuff for me this time, they guarantee a five to nine day stay.
Oh wait, that's not necessarily a good thing, neh?
I shall keep you posted. Pun intended.