Update on Mistaken Identity of THE WORST KIND.

OZ called in for messages, he is out of the office until Monday (because he has money and a boat and no need to work anymore), and he asked to speak to me. We were all shocked. He never asks to speak to anybody but Glynda because the rest of us only exist when he needs his lunch, coffee, tea, prunes-.

My hand was shaking when I picked up the phone because I was not ready to speak to him so soon after the horrible mental image of someone who looked similar to me hanging out with my boss. He told me the patient had confessed he mistook me for his NIECE and he was sorry if I had been embarrassed. The man did not even stutter.

I told him all was good and let’s please never EVER speak of this again. I, on the other hand, did stutter. I am also upset that my pasty white skin may account for the fact that people think OZ and I are related (BECAUSE WE ARE GOING WITH THE NIECE STORY, PEOPLE!). I need a tan. Or maybe chocolate.

So, let’s all pretend it was his NIECE so that I may be able to sleep at night and not have the recurring nightmare of being chased around the room by Philip Seymour Hoffman* in drag.

*Because OZ and PSH could be identical twins.

p.s.

We were subjected to the pubes on the toilet seat talk again today. I told Glynda it was summertime so maybe people were shedding? Or molting?

STILL SHIVERING!