I'm not too sure about this blood-donating thing anymore. I was happy to give and all; but as far as I understood it, no one was going to be bothering me for another 8 weeks. So why did I get a phone call tonight?
Anonymous Vampire: I'm with the Red Cross, and we were wondering if you'd be interested in making a platelet donation next week?
Me: Um, what are platelets?
A.V.: They're in your blood.
Me (relieved): Oh, I gave blood 2 weeks ago. I'm not allowed to give again for a while.
A.V.: This is a different procedure. We take more platelets, but we give you the rest of the blood back.
Me (trying hard not to pass out or throw up): Really?
A.V. (sounding disturbingly enthusiastic): Yes, we stick a needle in each of your arms and....(thud)...hello? Are you there? Hello?
So, Manic, I'm asking you to call off your dogs - they're scaring me. 2 needles? You know, the cookies weren't that good.
In related news, we made valentines today (you know, blood, hearts, valentines) - it kept the kids busy, and I (the eternal optimist) even entertained the notion of being able to spend the afternoon sitting peacefully at the kitchen table with them, decorating cardstock with foam hearts and cute pictures and drinking hot cocoa. Instead I spent an hour and a half resolving one crisis after another concerning not-self-adhesive foam hearts and dried up glue sticks and stamp pad property rights; and then I had to clean up the stove where the hot cocoa boiled over, and one of the neighbor's 4-year-olds didn't make it to the bathroom in time...all of which conspired to destroy any misguided notions of a Mary Engelbreit type day (please click on that link, because a picture is worth a thousand words).
Maybe next year...