Unhappy Birthday

Twenty-one

Let's see I can...

drive, no wait already can do that
drink? no wait I don't do that either
smoke? had my chance for three years now
say i'm 21...there we go

So in other news, my blog is reaching you all the way from the hospital today where I have been assigned to sit for a patient. The patient is fifteen (we'll call him Invalid McLoverboy), he is visiting with us today because he tried to hurt himself, although I can't imagine why. Let me explain. He is not the only one checked in with us, no, no, at his bedside stands his ever-faithful girlfriend (also 15, and we'll call her Steamy McAdolescentlips). Can you see where this is going? Oh and I almost forgot to include the mother, the chaperon, the reason kids get pregnant in their own bedrooms.

The door is closed, the blinds are drawn, and nothing stands between this young love but four bed rails, an IV pump, an arm cast, and an inconveniently low hospital bed. Oh and then me, sitting in the corner, with NOTHING between me and the juiciest, most horrifying make-out session in all the history of adolescent hospitalized romances (which I pray to all that is holy is one of few). Let's be honest, when magnetism almost surpasses the time that you saw the Jonas Brother's front row and the curly-haired one look your general direction (but you know he saw you).

This has been going on for THREE hours. The mom, or the "enabler", chats away on her cell phone, not even phased by this Mickey Mouse club meets Cinemax episode unfolding right here in this dark, very, very small hospital room. I want to yell, "What is going ON!? She is EATING his FACE like a HAMBURGER, or did you NOT NOTICE!?"

Sweet MERCY what did I do to deserve this on my BIRTHDAY?!
Don't believe me?
I recorded a sound clip. BELIEVE THAT