Q. How are you doing on Lupron?
A. Aside from an occasional uterine twinge, just fine! And, I mean, I can see why the ol' uterus might be getting annoyed. First the medical instruments, then the delay in housecleaning...
Q. No, really.
A. Really, I'm fine. No headaches, no hot flashes. Actually, it's kind of nice having my hands and feet not be so cold all the time.
Q. What about the toaster oven?
A. Leaving it on all day? That was just a freak chance thing. The indicator light is invisible in the morning sun, and I always worry that I'm going to forget to turn it off—that's why I usually just unplug the damn thing.
Q. Thoughts of impending doom?
A. Look, if Beaker's presentation at a staff meeting tomorrow goes badly, we could end up starving on the street. It's not impossible. My friend who's getting Lasik could go blind. If my meeting with the dean on Thursday goes badly I could end up department chair next year, too. All these things could really happen. Don't tell me they couldn't.
Q. How many days did it take you to go buy some dishwashing detergent? After you had run out completely and dishes were piling up in the sink?
A. That's a very low blow. Three, I admit, it was three.
Q. And the naps?
A. Okay, you got me there. Yes, after every meal. Including breakfast. It makes it much harder to remember to do the dishes.
Q. Which is why you still haven't, despite having purchased the soap?
A. Um. Yeah.
Q. What about the simmer burner?
A. What simmer burner?
Q. Remember you made that pot of pasta sauce on Monday, that simmered for four hours? The one that's still soaking in the sink? Perhaps you should check the stove.