Just one?

A few days ago I noticed that I might have the onset of a cold sore. A day or two later, it was clear, Carl was back. Before I had time to go to the store and purchase medication, Carlos appeared. Just great. I can’t just have one herpe, I have to have two.

 

By the time I finally stocked up on topical creams (with two herpe – I like the ‘s’ to be both invisible and silent, it is important to buy more than just one), it was probably a bit too late because the ‘cold’ part of the sore had kicked in and I felt horrible. Thus, I stayed home from work in an attempt to feel better. Once at home, I pulled out all of my over-the-counter medication in hopes of finding an elixir. Being that I don’t take medication very often, I decided to use the medications that were either expired or soonest to expire. “How did that work out for you?” Opreggano asked. “Well, I don’t have diarrhea,” I replied.

 

After several hours at home, I decided to turn on the TV. Being that I never watch, I had attempted to cancel my cable a couple of months ago. The attempt was unsuccessful because they politely invited me to stay – inquired about which channels I really like and told me they could offer me a cheaper package that would provide me just that – so I didn’t cancel. I haven’t watched TV since the package change and, when turning on the TV today, found the cable company did just what they said would. I had told them I liked to watch Comedy Central and the basic local channels and, as a result, that is all I have – just one cable channel.

 

There are only so many soap operas and reruns of The Colbert Report and The Daily Show that one can watch, so when I received an invitation to attend a book reading, I took my expired in July 2011 Dayquil, slapped some topical cream on Carl and Carlos, and rushed to the book store.

 

Upon arriving I realized the book was about two girls with whom I went to school. During that time, we hung out pretty regularly. As often happens, we lost contact. They’re twins and now married, with one other girl, to the same man. The last time I saw them (about five years ago) and first learned about their relationship, I said to one of them, “Wow. Your husband is living the dream. Married to and doing sisters – twins, to boot.” Always a class act, me. Obviously, Lay’s slogan rubbed off on him, “No one can eat just one.” There I go again, class.

 

My¬† coworker, Prime Rib, joined me for the event and while we were waiting in line to speak with them, he decided to buy a book. “Just one?” the clerk asked him. “Just one?” he repeated, confused. “Books, not wives,” I advised him and added, “She wants to know if you want just one book. Not if you’ve got just one wife.” “Oh, no. I mean, yes. Just one. One book. I don’t think it would be OK for me to have more than one wife,” Prime Rib replied. “I think it would be OK tonight,” the clerk replied. “No, not even for just one night,” he told her and then said to me, “My wife would kill me.” The clerk was still listening. “I wouldn’t kill him and I’m not his wife,” I told the clerk, smiled – with Carl and Carlos in tact, and about faced. I’m sick (viral, well, OK, in other ways too). Doesn’t that give me the right to mess with people a little bit? If not all people, how about just the clerk? Just one person, please.