“You are not going out with that boy unless his parents are driving and that's that. I'm not just Spitting Grits here, young lady!”

. . . My father, John Thomas Cravey, USAF, to me in 1956.

Flash Post

Right this minute I think I could KILL for some aspirin. That’s ASPIRIN. Generic. Bayer. Ralph Lauren. I don’t care whose name is on it. Don Corleone.

I’m having a pain block for my chronic back stuff Tuesday, so I can take Joanna Leigh to Germany, Austria, Italy in less than three weeks with some peace of mind. (To see a bit about that trip, go here; I hope to post more about the trip soon.) The instructions were, “Quit taking your anti-inflammatory meds, including aspirin, Celebrex, all the other NSAIDs, because they are blood thinners.”

So I quit taking the meds Friday. Yesterday was ok, but today is awful. The doctor’s going to ask me where it hurts, and I’m going to say, “How much time do you have?”

I want three aspirin right now more than I want the Peach Cobbler I made with Chilton Co., Alabama, peaches – the best in the world.


These   +                these   =          

                                            This Beauty
But I want three aspirin more than I want cobbler. In rattling off the instructions, the nurse also said, “Oh, but don’t worry. You can still take your hydrocodone.”

Oh, whoopee. I don’t’ want hydrocodone. I want anti-inflammatory medicine for the fourth item on the list of my back issues: arthritis in my spine. Not in my hands or feet or anywhere else; just in my spine. Is that a good or bad thing? I have no idea and I don’t care. I just want my aspirin. Wwwhhhhhaaaaaaa!!!!!!!

Thanks for listening.

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