Kenny sits at the head of the dinner table in a very loose, tattered and oversized burberry teeshirt, "If you can play computergames all day, I don't see why you can't go to work".
I stare blankly into a bowl of luke warm double boiled chicken soup.
I am sulking.
"I mean why do you care about your sleeping patterns anyway?" he continues, " you're just going to sleep all day tomorrow and take the next day off, maybe we should get you some diapers, and send you back, I think you'd benefit better from moving around a bit".
Mum giggles a bit and I continue to pretend to ignore the conversation.
"I really think you should get out and go to the gym with mum tomorrow, and you know, move around a bit, you could borrow one of her maxi pads in case you start to, you know - leak." He chuckles to himself.
I'd spent the better part of lunch at the National University Hospital trying to collect a stool samples in the handicapped toilets. On the Drive home, mum enquires as to how I'd finally managed to get a sample into the precariously small jar, "I hope you didn't fish around with that shovel thing in the water, you never know who else's stuff might be in the water as well". I reassure her that I'm not always an idiot and she laughs, while I squirm around in the front passenger seat.
Earlier, the doctor had diagnosed me with Gastro-something-itis, possible inflamed colon, possible ameobic-bacterial- something or other, he says something about a colonoscopy and it's only after he pauses, smiles politely, and then winks that I figure "oh that must be the anal-probe aspect of investigation."
Feeling rather awkward, and not wanting to smile or wink back, I try to hold a defiantly straight face.
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