Unfortunately this week we're not loving Frank Spencer (although we do, well at least I do...). No, this week PlayPennies Loves...Some Mothers Do Have Em.
I have utterly fallen in love with the author of this blog.
I'm going to be brief today because I want you to go and read everything for yourself.
But in a recent nutshell, Nicola (our currently ex-pat British mum - she's coming back to Blighty y'see) is living in Chicago with her two boys, is in the process of getting divorced and was recently diagnosed with a cancerous mole on her back.
Now, this COULD form the basis for a blog so maudlin and depressing, you want to go and jump off the nearest tall building.
But Nicola's writing style is just fabulous, her wit is typically British and, if you've ever tried out our unique brand of British sarcasm in the States, you'll be crying with laughter at her attempts to engage in some comedy banter with US surgeons.
Here's a quick sample...
...the doctor walks in. Male. Youngish. Fairly good looking. Oh hellllooo, I think to myself. This appointment might be enjoyable after all. I bat my eyelashes at him coquettishly while we have an introductory chit-chat.
I'm trying to remember if there is a suspect mole on my boob that he really ought to take a close look at, while I'm there. Purely for medical purposes, of course. I know for a fact there is one in my bikini region but, given the fact that area is in desperate need of a prune, I'm thinking I'll give that one a miss this time round.
He opens my gown and starts to look closely at my back.
"So, where did you grow up? Where's the accent from?" he enquires.
"Hmmm. And do you remember getting sunburned as a child?"
"Well...I grew up in England..." I deadpan.
"Yes, but do you remember getting sun burnt as a child? What about on vacation?" he continues, ignoring my facetiousness.
"Not typically a great deal of sun in Scotland..."
The doctor is obviously not a huge fan of irony...
"Right. Well, I recommend that I remove this mole and biopsy it. I should get results back in the next week. Just to be sure there is nothing to worry about."
"You're going to remove it now? Like, right now? I don't even get the time to go home, lose a bit of sleep over the next few nights, and possibly even a few pounds, with the anxiety of it all? You're not going to give me the opportunity to come back and moan about having to pay another $20 to park for an hour? Are you sure?" I laugh as I attempt to banter with him. He still doesn't seem to be appreciating my light hearted wit. I obviously need to try just a little bit harder.
"There's a choice of two different procedures I can use to remove the mole..." which he goes on to explain. Both of which make my knees start to go a bit googly. Did I mention I'm not really good with hospitals? "Is there one which you would prefer me to use? The second one might leave slightly more scarring."
"Hmmm. Choices. Choices. Well, I guess as my Sports Illustrated calendar days are behind me I'm not sure the scarring is an issue. Do you have a preference?
I mean, feel free to knock yourself out if there's one you need to practice more than the other...it's not as if I'm even going to be able to see your handiwork anyway."
I begin to sense I have stretched his patience to the limit.
I adore the simplicity of this blog - no reviews, no photo albums just the stories and OHHHH they are brilliantly told. They're funny, sad, hilarious, poigniant and I've been completely absorbed for the last too many hours.
Go and visit Nicola, she'll make you laugh, she might make you cry, but above all else you'll feel like you've just made a new friend.
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