Roll over and play dead

Just as I was getting ready to hit PUBLISH POST on a sweet little ditty about the mother who forgot my birthday, she called and left a voice mail. Damn it. I was so enjoying that mockery. 9:37 pm. Better late than never. Except not in this case, as it has interfered with deliciously snarky blogging.

It is interesting to note, though, that my youngest brother--the sibling I talk to the least often--was actually the first to contact me today. And here I thought he just used that blackberry to schedule booty calls. Apparently, Text T was sandwiched in between Go to the gym and Get some in his day planner. I am honored to have earned that coveted time slot.

Otherwise, the day was pretty uneventful. I'm on service with an attending physician who thinks he's Patch Adams. As he asked a 25 year old patient about his leg pain during rounds today, he tenderly rubbed the guy's stomach. The dude might have enjoyed that if, say, he had been a Labrador retriever; but, in this case, it did not have the desired calming effect.

As someone who prefers her own personal space, I spent the whole day trying not to scream, BOUNDARIES. People have BOUNDARIES.

Two students on my team knew that it was my birthday. I told them both, "If you say so much as a word in front of Patch over there, I'll kill you. Both of you. Slowly. The last thing I want here is to kick off my 28th year with a belly rub."